


Learning to Breathe

by marvelouskatie



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, about bucky learning how to feel different emotions again, and head canons that popped up in fics i've read too, and this story just started building in my head, because i can't help myself, come along for the ride, just sort of experimenting with these characters, sort of canon but also my own head canons, started as one shots but now onto full fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-04-22 16:18:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 83,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4842152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marvelouskatie/pseuds/marvelouskatie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky escaped HYDRA, Steve found him, and moved him to New York, hoping his former self would return. It's going to be a long road, regaining his emotions, and his ability to feel human. Luckily, there's a snarky brunette, who may or may not be the very thing he needs to find himself again. </p><p>Started as a series of one shots, but became a full on fic. Cameos by different Marvel characters. Yes, I've probably screwed up some actual canon details and just diverged into my own canon. Roll with it, y'all!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> A small prologue to set up some of the back story and alt-canon details I've included within the fic. Hopefully it all makes sense. I suppose the big detail is that SHIELD didn't collapse the way it did exactly in TWS, there is still a Stark Tower in NYC, Avenger HQ is in Washington. They're all over the place, everywhere. Enjoy!

** PROLOGUE: NOTHING **

 

Bucky stood in the darkness staring out plate glass window, long hair hanging limp around his cheeks, his sniper sharp eyes picking up every single movement on the streets.  The Stark Tower in Manhattan had an excellent view of the glittering metropolis below. Cabs weaving in and out of traffic, lights blinking, the sun setting in the distance beyond the Hudson river.

Steve thought New York would be a good place for him, that it would help him regain more of his memories, more of his former self. He wasn’t so sure. Brooklyn had been their home before the war, in a time that didn’t exist, that was lost to him.

_Who the hell is Bucky?_

That was the question, wasn’t it?

He flexed his metal fingers, looking out over the skyscrapers, and spotted the Brooklyn Bridge in the distance. If only it were as easy as crossing a bridge to get from A to B. He remembered snippets, big things, like Steve was his friend, they were both orphans, they’d both fought in the war. None of Bucky’s memories felt like his. They came to him in disjointed snippets, the way one might recall the scenes from a movie or book, something he could recount, but not experiencing himself. It all felt like it happened to someone else.

In truth, he hadn’t felt much more than confusion since escaping HYDRA. He was nothing more than a robot, with a metal arm to prove it. HYDRA had taken away any emotion that wasn’t conducive to his missions. He’d been disconnected from everything but the drive to obey and kill. Without remorse, without a conscious, there was nothing in him that made him…a man.

He turned from the window and walked into the darkness of his bedroom. It was for the best. If he could feel remorse, he assumed that his new life of nothingness would be penance for his sins. Steve looked at him like he needed saving, but he didn’t. He’d escaped and learned the truth and that was good enough for him.

The king sized bed against the wall was filled with luxary pillows and expensive sheets and looked comfortable as hell. Bucky had tried stretching out on it, closing his eyes, and waiting for his consciousness to shut down, but it was all in vain. It had been decades since he’d had slept like a normal person. His sleeps were always the cryo-induced kind. When he did manage an hour or two of repose, it was hardly restful. He’d wake up, gasping for breath, ready to attack…just the way he had woken everytime HYDRA pulled him from cryo and let him loose to kill again.

He had slept while in the lab facility at the S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ in Washington. They’d tranked him, because he’d flown off the handle and attacked a guard, when one of their scientists attempted to run some tests. Bucky was tired of men and women in lab coats poking and proding and running experiments on him. Never again.

Steve had given the petite, brunette doctor an earful, and Bucky had overheard parts of it when he came to. Tranquilizers never kept him out for long, not unless they were a very, very strong dosage. She argued that it was wise to check him over, to know what they were dealing with. Steve argued that he wasn’t a “what” he was a “who” and Steve could handle it. The heated discussion went on for the better part of an hour, before they came to a compromise.

Bucky was moved to an observation room with a cot and after a day or two--when he had apparently proven that he wasn’t going to murder them all--he was moved to Stark Tower.

Steve had shown him around the facility. The Stark offices where executives pretended to care, the research and development floors with the labs and goggled scientists. There was a gym and training level with an Olympic sized pool. A medical wing was located above science. The upper floors were only accessible through fingerprint and retina scan. That gave Bucky a little bit of trouble, considering he didn’t have fingerprints. For him it would be retina scan and a manually entered key code. These floors belong to the residents of Stark Tower.

Stark stayed in the penthouse, which was comprised of three levels. Steve mentioned that Tony usually resided there about half the year and then half on the west coast. His current location was classified. Below Stark’s apartments were the floors for guests and special employees.

Bucky merited the title of guest. His living quarters consisted of a bedroom, bathroom, small kitchen, and small lounge area. It was more or less an entire apartment all to himself, away from the other residents of the tower. Steve would be living there, too for the time being, just to keep an eye on him and be there in case he needed him.

“It’ll be okay, ya know?” Steve told him at the end of the tour.

Okay was probably relative. The way he figured, staring out the window, feeling nothing, not even the will to kill, was as close to okay as he was ever going to get.

 .

.

 

Darcy never imaged that delving into fairytales would one day become her job. As research assistant to Doctor Jane Foster, employed by S.H.I.E.L.D., she found that she ended up in a lot of places and doing a lot of things that she never thought she would end up doing. Like going through Norse mythology and cataloguing every single detail, interpretation, and legend she could find to cross-reference. For anything that might be relevant.

Thor kept say that something was coming, which made Jane nervous, which meant that Darcy was very, very busy.

So of course when Jane told her that she was now responsible for their grocery list, she bulked. Because she just had  _so much_  free time on her hands.

“Doesn’t Stark have staff for this?” she grumbled as she went through the delivery app on her phone and picked out groceries for herself, Jane, Clint, Natasha, and… _him_.

Darcy hadn’t officially met the man known as The Winter Solider yet. No one went hear his rooms, except for Cap and Natasha. He stayed in the guest quarters, two floors above her apartment on the employee floor. It was probably a place nicer than hers, since she and Jane lived on the staff floors. Still, her place was nicer than a Manhattan shoebox, and considering she was neck deep in student loan debt a shoe box was more than she could afford anyways.

She didn’t even have a degree to show for her expenses, after getting distracted by the mysteries of sciences and space gods and the world as she knew it falling apart.

Only the Avengers and select few including herself and Jane knew of Stark Tower’s ghostly resident. His existence was super duper beyond level seven classified. The only reason Darcy even knew about it was because she was nosy as hell and followed Jane one day—back when they were still headquartered in Washington--she was called down for a super secret project.

The nosy side of her wanted to see him. Sure, she had seen the old reels and still photographs of Sargent James Buchanen Barnes at the Smithsonian, but she knew from her quick glimpse of his fist of fury when he was first brought to the underground facility in Washington that he wasn’t that same made. She was curious about him, knowing his story, hearing things from Steve. Jane’s curiosity and need to solve mysteries had rubbed off on her in the three years they’d known one another.

Now she has an excuse to sneak up there and see the mystery man himself. A flimsy one—and if Barton or Nat catch her they will totally see through it—but she goes with her gut and heads up the elevator to his floor.

Her knock at his door went unanswered and she carefully let herself into the room. The door was unlocked, so that’s as good an invitation as any right?

“Hello?” she called out, her voice echoing in the silence. The living area and kitchen, visible when she first walked in, is shrouded in darkness, save for a few strips of light leaking through the black out curtains. Maybe the Winter Solider was nocturnal.

A click and the cool metal of a gun barrel pressed to her temple answered her questioned.

Darcy gasped and froze, throwing her hands up in surrender. “Whoa, whoa! I come in peace!”

“Who are you?” A deep voice growled. She couldn’t see him, but felt tension and defense rolling off him in waves. She was an intruder and therefore, a threat. She didn’t dare turn her head for fear that any movement might encourage him to pull the trigger.

“Uh—I’m Darcy…Lewis,” she gulped. “I’m Jane Foster’s research assistant. I’m a good guy. See, the lab coat? Good guy. Team Science. Er—well I guess to you Team Science hasn’t been so great. But here it’s pretty good, except for Stark who can be kind of an asshole sometimes…”

She let out a breath as he lowered the gun, hoping that meant that he decided she wasn’t a danger and he didn’t need to shoot her.

Without the gun to her temple, Darcy took a chance and turned to face him, reaching for the light switch. The room illuminates and she see his face. He looks nothing like the clean cut, war hero depicted in those old reels. For one thing, he’s bigger and more muscular than Bucky Barnes of the Howling Commandos. His hair is longer, his jaw scruffier, dark purple rings under his eyes. Something about the way he looks at her reminds her of the dogs at the rescue shelter she used to volunteer at in high school.

Proceeding with caution would probably be a wise decision.

“We met once. Sort of. Actually, not really. I was behind the double glass when they brought you into the lab in D.C.. Saw you throat punch a guard. Excellent move, by the way. I didn’t like that guy. He totally cupped my boob once when I was getting a security pat down. I spiked his coffee with ex-lax though—“

“What do you want?”

“Oh, yeah. I came to see what you’d want from the grocery store.”

He continued to frown at her. Darcy didn’t think he had blinked once since she’d walked through the door. “What?”

“Like, food? What kind of food do you like? In case you didn’t know, which you probably don’t, I’m the one who has been buying you food for the past month. Even though I’m not an intern anymore and it shouldn’t be my job. I’ve just been picking out things I like, because I figured you probably didn’t have the luxury of Pop Tarts and Pizza Rolls in that HYDRA lab.”

She reached into her pocket for her phone, to pull up the grocery delivery app, and noticed the gun in his hand twitch toward her again. “Whoa hey, buddy! Just my phone. No guns or knives or weapons of any kind. The worst I could do is throw this at your head and I really doubt it would do much damage.” Her palms were in the air again, waving the phone, and her eyes flicked to the gun. “Seriously, can we loose the Glock? I’m the least threatening person in this entire building, aside from Dr. Padmore who I’m pretty sure is one of the dorks from Saved By the Bell all grown up.”

The Winter Solider seemed to consider her words for a few moments, cocking his head to one side and assessing her with dark eyes. He stared hard at the phone, but she watched some of the tension leave him and he set the gun down on the table next to him. Darcy didn’t miss that while he was no longer holding the weapon, it wasn’t out of his immediate reach.

She blew out another small breath or relief, thankful that curiosity wasn’t going to kill this cat today—Darcy being the cat in the scenario.

“So, food?”

“It doesn’t matter.” His words weren’t impolite, but it sounded as if it took great pain for him to form each one, every syllable a heavy weight to lift.

“Well, it  _does_  matter, because people need to eat to live and also eating is really fun. I didn’t get these great thighs by not enjoying bagels,” she let out a nervous laugh, not sure why she felt the need to reference her curves to the former assassin. “Do you mind?”

Not waiting for answer, Darcy walked slowly over to his kitchen area, making each move careful and deliberate, just so he didn’t go reaching for the gun again and get trigger happy. She popped open the door to the cabinets, frowning when she saw them completely stocked. Then she inspected the contents of the fridge, finding that full as well. That wasn’t right. It should be empty. She’d seen the way Cap and Thor ate. Natasha and Barton could also pack it away. The cupboards should have been beyond bare.

She turned to the counter, noticing the fruit basket was empty and likewise, the bread was gone.

“Apples and bread?” she asked. “That’s all that you’ve been eating?”

He blinked at her and looked away as if bored by the entire conversation. “Okay, that’s just not going to work. You have to eat. You need protein. I’m getting you steak and chicken and lots of meat. Stark can suck it, it’s not like he can’t afford to feed us prime cuts every day of the week.”

Darcy trailed off, taping into her app a few choice items. Maybe he just wasn’t into the junk food. She picked organic, focusing on protein and veggies, and carbs, carbs, carbs.

James—or Bucky, she wasn’t sure what to call him—just watched her the entire time with tight shoulders and guarded eyes, not saying a single word, or offering any opinion as she made verbal tics down the list for him.

“I guess that does it,” she announced, satisfied with her choices and hoping he would be as well. “I’ll be back when the delivery arrives. Sorry to bug you.”

Darcy slipped her phone back into the pocket of her lab coat and spun away, wondering if she’d made the right decision to engage him or not. He hadn’t shot her, so that had to be a plus. Come to think of it, she wasn’t sure what she had been expecting from him. All of the Avengers were their own brand of taciturn—it sort of came with the territory—but his was different. He clearly did not want to be around people at all.

“SIG Sauer.”

The words were spoken at a volume so low, Darcy wasn’t even sure if it had just been the pad of her shoes against the floor, instead of him actually speaking to her. Still, she turned back toward him.

“Sig-who?”

“The gun,” he said. “It’s not a Glock. It’s a SIG Sauer.”

“Huh,” she said. “Learn something new everyday.” She offered him a friendly smile from the doorway. “I’ll see you later. Try not to shoot me when I come back with the food.”

Darcy snuck up to deliver the groceries; the door unlocked again when she got there. He wasn’t around, but she knew he was there. Darcy unpacked the goods and put everything away, humming to herself as she arranged the food in his fridge.

“Alright, I’m out,” Darcy called to the seemingly vacant apartment. “I’ll be back in a day or two. Eat something.”

She paused by the door for a few breaths. He didn’t answer or reveal himself, so she gave up and left him to whatever he did to fill his days.

She meant what she said though, she would be back.


	2. PART I: AMUSEMENT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky is unsure what side he is on, if any. A new routine develops between the two.

** PART I: AMUSEMENT **

****

Not long after his arrival at Stark Tower, Steve determined that Bucky’s presence no longer needed to be classified, which meant he was free to roam the tower. He wasn’t up for much social interaction and tended to keep to his own space unless it was very early in the morning or very late at night. Despite his reawakening, he was still a shadow in the world.

The only person he interacted with was Steve. He experienced one very awkward, one-sided conversation with Natasha Romanoff. Something about her face caused something in his brain to flicker, but it faded before he couldn’t place it. She was entering the training room as he was leaving. She told him that she knew a thing or two about guilt and the weight of his kills or something like that.

“Steve doesn’t get it,” she said. “But I do. So if you…”

She trailed off, but Bucky got the subtext. Not that he planned to take her up on it.

There was also Darcy. She kept coming back to his room. But he could hardly call that social interaction.

The brunette would show up sometimes in the afternoon, most times in the evening, and she would invade his kitchen and prepare food. She was adamant that he eat. Bucky would stay in the bedroom while she was there. He would hear her hum along to music playing too loudly from her ear-buds, or mutter to herself as she multi-tasked and continued to work while cooking.

Somehow she got the hint that he didn’t want her to stick around. She would leave the prepared food out on the counter for him to eat then tell him goodbye and disappear until the next day. She didn’t linger or try to coax him out of the room or talk to him.

Bucky wasn’t sure why she was there, cooking for him all the time. What was in it for her? He thought maybe Steve put her up to it, but realized that wasn’t true when Steve came back to his apartment after an evening workout one night. They had keeled over more than a dozen punching bags and were both starving. Back at his apartment, Bucky immediately smelled the hints of spices in the air, along with lavender perfume, from Darcy's time in his kitchen.

Paranoia told him he should be bothered by a stranger in his space while he wasn't there, but practicality told him she wasn't a threat and he needn’t worried.

"Nice," Steve commented, grinning as he opened the fridge and took out the Tupperware Darcy left for him. He opened it up to inspect the contents and sniffed. "Chicken Picatta. I didn't know Hydra gave you cooking lessons. You couldn't cook to save your life back in Brooklyn." 

“You’re such a punk,” Bucky muttered, taking a fork and stealing away the dish Steve had prepared for himself.

Steve scoffed, grabbing another plate from the cupboard. “Jerk.”

His friend helped himself to food and joined him for dinner. Bucky wasn’t sure where the instinct for familiar name-calling came from, but he could see something about it made Steve happy.

“Look,” he said after they’d eaten two platefuls each. Darcy always cooked enough for leftovers; just to be sure he had enough for possible a day or two after, but thanks to Steve’s assistance, all of the food was gone. “I was thinking that…well, I was wondering…” Steve let out a breath. “Are you ready to meet the rest of the team?”

Bucky knew what that meant. Steve wanted him to fight for their side…whatever side that was, along with the rest of the Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. He wasn’t sure about it. He wasn’t sure where he fell on the invisible line that stood between the ideals of his old life, and his new. The past seventy years had blurred the edges for him.

Remnants of Hydra’s brainwashing lingered in the fringes of his thoughts. Their ideals, their missions, their vision of the world, the one that he was taught to uphold and carry on at any cost, still had a hold on him. It was enough of a hold that he needed to constantly remind himself that it wasn’t the truth.

Good guys, bad guys, they didn’t matter to him as the Winter Solider. He couldn’t even feel the value of the ideals the way Steve or Hydra’s leaders felt them. The thirst for justice, power, freedom, victory, none of it registered for him. Hydra took any chance for dissidence away from him, to make him the perfect soldier, to make him obey, obey, obey.

Bucky didn’t realize he’d been clenching his fist—the one still made of flesh--pressing his nails hard into his palm. Steve was looking down at his hand knotted over the counter.

“Just think about it. Take your time,” he said, giving him a pat on the shoulder. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

.

.

.

.

.

.

Every employee in Stark Tower was buzzing about Bucky’s presence, all wondering when they might catch a glimpse of him. Darcy heard nothing but gossip, gossip, gossip everywhere she went. For all the secrets each employee dealt in, they were horrible at keeping them.

The only person who seemed to carry on without so much as a peep of curiosity was Jane, whose nose was fully immersed in her own work. It would take the Jaws of Life to pry Jane away in the middle of an experiment. No, scratch that. It took a very muscular Asgardian/Norse god to pull Jane away from an experiment.

Since Thor was nowhere in sight, nor even in their realm, Darcy was stuck at the labs until much later than normal. It was almost eight by the time she ditched her lab coat and headed up toward the residential levels.

She let herself into Bucky’s apartment, calling out to him in case he was around, and flipped on the light.

A quick yelp caught in her throat and her hand flew to her chest when she saw him in the middle of the room, staring directly at her.

“Jesus Christ,” she breathed, her heart thumping her in chest at the surprise. “What are you doing creeping in the shadows?”

A long sleeved t-shirt and glove hid his metallic arm from view, his long hair dangling around his temples. He didn’t answer and Darcy headed to the kitchen to check the status of his leftovers. By her estimation she could help heat up the rest of the chicken she’d made the night before and then dash to her place to—

“You ate everything already?” Darcy looked up, surprised to see that Bucky had followed her closer to the kitchen and was hovering a few feet away from the other side of the island counter. Usually, she was just talking out loud to herself, while he made himself scare.

“Steve was here,” he answered.

Darcy snorted at that. “That explains it,” she said beginning to gather ingredients to start a meal. Her brain quickly landed on something easy, quick, and filling. “Well, tonight it’s Nana Lewis’s Mac n’ Cheese. Because it will only take me fifteen minutes to make. If I’m lucky, I’ll have enough energy for a Pop-Tart before I fall into bed.”

Her statement was punctuated by a thick yawn. Down at the lab at four A.M. was insane, but Jane just _had_ to be there at that time to observe a particular moon in the not-quite-sunrise sky.

“You’re later,” Bucky said, moving a few steps toward her. “Than usual.”

“Yeah, I was busy at the lab. Jane was in mood. I really hope it’s that time of the month soon. I don’t mean her--,” she snapped her mouth shut and shook her head back and forth. “No, I can’t say the word ‘period’ to you because then it’s all over. Except, oh wait I just said it,” a nervous laugh split her words, followed by a groan. “What I meant was, Thor. He’ll be visiting soon. She gets a little anxious when she doesn’t see him for a while and tends to over do it on work even more so than usual. Long distance sucks…”

Darcy missed it, because she was busy assembling various cheeses and measuring out milk to dump into a big metal bowl. In between her venting about her boss and her embarrassment at mentioning certain female body functions in front of a hot guy, something happened. Bucky stepped all the way into the light, and the corner of his mouth curved up into a tiny, amused smile.

It was gone as soon as it occurred. A mere tick of the clock.

She was still going on about Thor and Jane and mentioning something about the lab taking on a few interns in the next few weeks that she was happy to boss around when…

“Do you want to stay and eat?”

Darcy blinked. Unsure if she was hallucinating. For his part, Bucky looked as neutral as ever. He was stiff, not even the slight movement of his jaw to indicate he had just spoken. All he did was stand and stare and breathe.

“You want me to stay for dinner?”

In some alternate universe, Darcy imagined that Bucky was very awakwardly trying to ask her out on a date.

“You do the cooking, you should eat, too.” He was a man of little words.

Darcy shrugged and stirred the ingredients in her bowl with a wooden spoon. “I’m not going to argue with that logic. Besides, this mac and cheese like crack. It’s so good.”

Once the food was ready, Darcy stayed and ate Nana’s Mac n Cheese with a glass of milk for dinner with the Winter Soldier. They sat on opposites sides of the island, Bucky chewing silently, methodically, while Darcy checked her social media and tried to explain pop culture to him. An hour and a half later, after three mighty yawns, she knew it was time to go to her own apartment and get to bed.

“Hey,” she said to him at the door. “What do I call you? We never really did an actual introduction, even though I already knew who you were. Is it James? Or Bucky? Because Steve always calls you—“

“Bucky,” he said, “is fine.”

Darcy nodded. “Okay, see you tomorrow, Bucky.”

She shut the door, not expecting a response, and missed it again. It being the fourth time that night that Bucky’s mouth curved up into an almost smile.

Dinners with Darcy became a normal thing for Bucky Barnes.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for the kudos and comments on the Prologue! I'm glad it got some of you hooked. I ideas for some of the bigger emotions (anger, fear...lust... ;) ) But need to do a couple smaller ones before getting onto any of those.
> 
> Also, pardon for any errors. This is unbetaed and like dear Darcy, I've had a loooong day. Though I wish was working for superheroes. Then maybe I wouldn't complain so much haha
> 
> Stay tuned and thanks for the support!! :)
> 
> If you have tumblr follow me at hybridlovelies


	3. Part II: Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are good surprised and bad surprises. Bucky and Darcy stumble into a bit of both.
> 
> Thanks to Ashley (jomosfamilyjewels on tumblr) for the beta help!

_PART II: SURPRISE_

 

It doesn’t happen on a Wednesday.

Darcy was over for dinner. As they talked--well mostly Darcy talked--she made a film reference and when Bucky didn’t understand, she attempted to explain the movie it came from. Which in turn, launched her into trying to explain what movies were in the first place. He let her go on for a few minutes before interrupting.

“I know what a movie is,” he told her, a dry grin on his lips. “Movies existed in the 1940s.”

Darcy didn’t miss any more smirks after those first few. She was privy to them all. Bucky only gave them to her.

She clamped her mouth shut and scrunched her face up behind her glasses at being called out on her mistake. “Well, I don’t know when movies were invented. I was a Poli-Sci major, not a history buff.”

Sometimes it was hard to keep track of the things Bucky did and didn’t know. Over the past few weeks, it became obvious that he’d lived a sheltered life as a Hydra Assassin, but he wasn’t completely obtuse to the modern world, the way Steve had been when he first woke up in an entirely different decade.

“We also had running water, cars, and soap,” he quipped.

Darcy narrowed her eyes at him across the island counter, but the look lacked any real irritation. “Did you have knives and cutting boards? Because those veggies aren’t going to chop themselves.” The brunette nodded her head toward the collection of tomatoes, onions, and greenery just in front of him.  “This homemade pasta thing is taking longer than I realized. Help a gal out?”

The levity he’d been feeling in her presence diminished when his eyes went to the block of carving knives on the counter behind her.

“I don’t—“

“Nuh-uh,” she chided, “maybe women did all the cooking in 1940, but I’m a child of the 90s, post women’s lib and that means guys help in the kitchen, too!”

Bucky wanted to correct her. He had no problem helping her with the cooking. He was pretty certain that after observing her skills in the kitchen, he’d picked up enough knowledge to survive on his own. Yet he never said anything, not wanting her to lose the excuse to hang out with him. What other reason could she have other than to make sure he was eating well?

To that end, he didn’t want to scare her. He didn’t want her to realize the potential danger she was putting herself in, suggesting that a man like him wield a long, sharp knife just inches away from her pretty, ivory throat. Not that the entire apartment wasn’t armed to the teeth and with his training, he could conceive a weapon out of almost anything. Her putting one in his hand was an entirely different situation.

Bucky knew he was unstable. Memories of the man he was before Hydra and the war trickled back to him, but with those memories came other memories. The memories of the life he lived as Hydra’s puppet assassin. Sometimes he wasn’t sure where he was. Sometimes he woke up, the most recent memory being his last mission to kill Steve, the urge to fulfill duty and Hydra’s destiny at the forefront of his mind. He shuddered to think of the day that he wouldn’t be able to snap out of it and whom he might take down that stood in the way.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed the nervousness lodged in his windpipe. Darcy was oblivious, humming along to the music playing from her iPod that she’d hooked up to the speakers. She ran her finger along the page of the cookbook open on the counter.

The knife let out a metallic sigh as Bucky slid it from the block, gripped it in his right hand.

Darcy didn’t even bother to turn toward him as he stood positioned behind her, weapon in hand.

He squeezed his eyes closed. It wasn’t a weapon, it was a kitchen knife. He wouldn’t harm her. She wasn’t a target or collateral she was Darcy.

The moment of hesitation caught her attention and she glanced over her shoulder. Bucky noticed the corner of her green eye, the full shape of her cherry lips, the tilt of her chin.

“You okay?”

He clear his throat, voice still sounds thick with unspoken fear as he answered. “I’m good.”

Blinking rapidly to clear the bloodshed from his mind, Bucky grabbed a tomato from the small basket and began to slice, making clean, deft cuts into the skin. Darcy eyed the handy work while she continued to prepare the sauce for their meal.

“I’m impressed,” she assessed, marveling at his precise chops and minimal mess.

Bucky remained silent for most of the evening after that. Darcy managed as always to fill the conversational void with her usual loquaciousness.

After he was finished chopping, the knife sat between them throughout the preparation and for most of the meal and Bucky’s eyes flew to it every so often. Darcy didn’t bat an eye, trusting him not to harm her. She goddamn trusts him.

The entire idea made him shift in his seat, feeling like he should move away from her. She’s too close, in his space, and he is too close to her. Even Steve, who he trusts over anything, isn’t allowed that close to him. But he’s able to shake it off that night. A few laughs from her and another opportunity at sarcasm and he’s able to pull away from the knife and any worry that he might unintentionally snap.

.

.

.

.

It doesn’t happen on a Saturday.

Not every day or meal is filled with light hearted teasing. Sometimes Bucky sits and scowls. He doesn’t retreat to the shadows anymore, the way he used to do when he’d first arrived, and Darcy takes it as a good sign. However, she can tell he’s been turning something over in his brain recently, vacillating between smirking ex-soldier and grumpy cat. His mood on that Saturday leaned more toward the latter.

“Why the mean mug?” she inquired. Bucky didn’t answer. His eyes didn’t even flick in her direction as he continued to scowl at the backsplash on the wall as if it insulted the honor of his mother. “My dad always told me that if you made a face like that for long enough, it would stick that way.”

Bucky’s stormy blue eyes flashed up to her so quickly causing her to jolt under the forcefulness of his gaze. “Why are you here?”

Darcy faltered, her shoulders and eyes drooping toward the ground. “I can go…”

“No,” he let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. It’s shorter than it had been after his arrival. Bucky had allowed Darcy to cut the snarled, tangled ends away. It had been a tense three minutes, until Bucky couldn’t take the idea of Darcy at his back with a pair of scissors anymore and he ended the grooming experiment right then and there. She’d chopped maybe three inches, still leaving it long enough that at time it covered most of his face. “Sorry, it’s just…”

“A bad day?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, some neutrality returning to his voice.

       More memories were bursting through the floodgates. Faces in his mind of the Hydra agents that had controlled him over the past seventy years, barking orders, telling him how important the missions were, reminding him of his purpose.

You’ve shaped history.

Bucky tried to keep them at bay and he’d feared the day the dam in his mind would give and he would drown. Whether it would be in a blood soaked river of rage or regret he wasn’t sure.

Darcy was still looking up at him with expectant green eyes.

       “I didn’t mean…” he tried again, squeezing his eyes shut to focus on what he wanted to say. Speech was difficult on days like this. “It’s Saturday.”

       Darcy usually didn’t show up on Saturdays. Bucky would see her Friday nights and then not again until Sunday evening. He wasn’t sure what she did with her Saturdays. She’d never mentioned and he’d never asked.

       “Oh,” it was Darcy’s turn to experience some speech difficulty. “Um, yeah it was kind of a...bad day. This thing...happened..and it’s not a big deal...I mean sorta not but, whatever,” she waved a flippant hand in front of her. “I just didn’t want to hang out alone. Jane is with Thor and I just don’t feel like sitting between the happy couple while they make moony eyes at each other from across the table.”

       Her short, mildly incoherent rant was punctuated by a sniff and a lift of her shoulder.

       “If you’d rather be alone…”

       He didn’t say yes and he didn’t say no. Alone was not a luxury he was allowed under Hydra’s watchful eye. Even when on missions, alone was an illusion. They were always over his shoulder, watching his every mood, making sure he accomplished what needed to be done without breaking.

       Alone was something he’d only found once he’d escaped. He’d cut into his own skin and ripped every tracker they’d implanted in him out of his body, abandoning them in the dirt, for any of their agents to find.

       Darcy took his silence for permission to remain in his apartment, following their usual routine, even if it was an on an unusual night. She popped off the bar stool, her face brightening.

       “I have an idea!” She rushed off without a word or clue as to what the idea may have been. The aroma of garlic wafted from the oven and his stomach rolled at the delicious smell. Bucky started to wonder if she would return, when she appeared in the doorway again, a small golden box tucked under her arm.

       The timer on the oven began to beep and Darcy walked over to shut it off, sliding the box over to Bucky for him to inspect.

       “It’s the Captain America box set,” she explained. “It came out a few years ago. They digitally remastered all the old reels and put them together. There are even a couple ‘lost’ films, that were found in, like, theatre basements by total chance. Could be good?”

       Bucky gave her a skeptical look, unsure that the trip down memory lane would actually help in cheering either of them up. Then her brow quirked over her glasses and she said, “If nothing else it will serve as excellent material to torture Steve about.”

       It was settled.

       They watched the movies. 

.

 

.

       It didn’t happen the next Saturday either.

       After their first Saturday evening together, films became a part of their dinners. Not every night that week, but four out of the five.

       Darcy chose carefully. Nothing too scary or too violent. Bucky didn’t really seem like a comedy sort of guy. It was safe to pick films that were black and white or made before the 70s. An idea came to her while working in the lab--when she should have had her brain on something else--to hit the top movies in every decade.

They usually knocked out one or two a night before she began to yawn and she would shuffle off to her own apartment and bed.

       Bucky wasn’t as gloomy as he was the Saturday before. He recalled her unexpected presence in his space that day and it struck him again that it was another Saturday night spent with Darcy.

       They’d just finished Rebel Without a Cause and Darcy was debating North by Northwest based on the plot description when he decided to bring it up again.

       “It’s Saturday again.”

       “Only for another few hours,” she replied, continuing to scroll through the list of movies Jarvis compiled for her.

       “You aren’t usually here on a Saturday.”

       “I was here last Saturday.”

       Bucky’s arm was slung over the back of the couch, his metal hand inches from her shoulder. “Evade me all you’d like, doll. We both know which of us is the interrogation expert.”

       Darcy looked over at him, arching one of her brows. Her hair was down tonight, chestnut curls spilling around her shoulders. “‘Doll?’ Really?”

       The antiquated term of endearment just slipped out. Bucky shrugged as if it were nothing, ducking his eyes to hide the fact that the word surprised him, too. More things were slipping out; words, affectations, mannerisms, more of his former personality. Maybe it was the influence of the films they watched or maybe he was getting better. It was too soon to tell.

The darkness hadn’t completely left him. In the training room, with adrenaline rushing, those instincts given to him by Hydra would take over. At night sometimes, when he’d awaken in the darkness, unsure if he was being shaken from a nightmare or awoken from cryo-sleep. He would fight back the demons, though, clinging to the reality he now knew.

His stare flicked back up to the girl beside him, not letting her get out of answering his question. She’d been irritated in the past week and checking her phone, seeming to constantly talk herself out of something in regards to it. She’d been like that up until Wednesday evening.

Darcy let out a defeated sigh. “I got dumped last week.”

That surprised him. Bucky never realized that she’d had a guy.

“It wasn’t a big deal,” she continued. “Just this guy, Ian, from London. He was our new intern. We worked together while Jane was moping over Thor being gone and with Erik being crazy and then the whole Dark Elves from another planet thing and it was just heat of the moment…Saturdays used to be Skype date night. I think we were both trying to make it into something it wasn’t. All it was was just holy-shit-the-world-might-be-ending, all-out, no inhibitions sex.”

Darcy caught the odd look on Bucky’s face. The lines above his brow deepened as he tried very hard to sort something out. Okay…maybe she had over shared just a little. They were friends, but maybe not the kind of friends that went into those depths. Depths like guys and sex and relationship woes. Maybe she’d gone a little too far.

“Just a second,” he said at last, rotating his finger in the air, signaling she should back up. “Dark elves from another planet? You mean aliens?”

Darcy grinned at the multitudes of confusion playing over the Winter Soldier's features. “Oh yeah, we are not alone,” she gave him a pat on the hand. “Baby steps, Buckster. I’ll tell you all about the nine realms sometime. Maybe when you have a few less brain things to worry about.”

.

.

It happened the very next day.

Sunday.

Something was bound to go wrong. Another shoe had to drop. Up would always, eventually turn to down.

Sunday was when it all went down.

.

.

Darcy came by that night with a gift.

“Surprise!” She declared gleefully, swinging a colorful bag from her fingertips as she walked through her front door.

       Bucky took the bag and was instructed to open it. Inside he found a silver, paper box and was told to open that as well. He stared at it for a few moments, wondering why she would give him a gift.

       Inside the box was a black object he didn’t recognize. Darcy explained it was a Polaroid camera.

She taught him how to load the film and take a photograph, then posed in front of the flash and encouraged him to give it a go. Bucky snapped the trigger, the flash blinking, something in his brain twitching, a strange blast sounding in his ear. Darcy didn’t seem to have heard the exploding sound. He shook it off and watched the paper eject from the camera.

       Darcy grabbed it between two fingers and pulled it all the way out, waving it in the air.

       “Just wait,” she said, handing it over to him. “You’ll see what happens. Give it about thirty seconds.”

       Bucky took the paper and stared down at the gray image. Slowly, the fog on the paper dissipated, and revealed the Darcy that existed moments ago. Her cheeks lifted into a bright smile, forest colored eyes happy and playful.

       He stared at her features, examining the details.

       “I don’t understand,” he admitted, still perplexed by the gift.

       “The other night you mentioned that one of the reasons you really believed you were Bucky Barnes was because of the pictures and reels you saw at the Smithsonian,” she explained. “I figured, maybe you could take some pictures of your own, to remind you, just in case…”

       In case he was ever captured again. Or simply forgot himself again. It was a possibility. Bucky hadn’t discussed his disassociation with her or anyone else and he wondered how she knew.

       “Anyways, we all live pretty precarious lives, so no harm in being prepared. I mean, you can’t Photoshop a Polaroid, so this way you know they’re real and not a trick, right?”

       Bucky gnawed his upper lip. “Right,” he answered absently, storm clouds rolling over his features.

Under Darcy’s instruction, Bucky snapped more photos, letting them develop and laying them out onto the counter. Each time he pressed the shutter he heard the same backfire sound.

.

.

       Darcy woke up, feeling cramped. A blue light filled her vision and she blinked against it. She was still on Bucky’s couch, having fallen asleep during the movie they’d been watching. As comfortable as it was, the small space didn’t offer her the ability to stretch out the way she liked when she slept.

       Her feet were in Bucky’s lap, his hand covering her shin. He was twitching and murmuring, caught in the throes of a dream.

       She knew better than to wake a sleeping person from a nightmare, especially a sleeping assassin. The words _draco dormiens nunquam titillandus_ came to mind. Not that Darcy would ever actually tickle him...that might be a little weird even for her.

His twitching grew more violent and Darcy stilled, considering what to do. His silver fist clenched, platelets in his fingers grinding together. The twist of his brow made her heart lurch. She didn’t want him to be frightened or in pain, even if it was just in a dream.

       The shift of her leg was all it took to wake him. His eyes popped open and he gasped for breath, his chest heaving beneath the gray t-shirt he wore.

       “Are you—“

       She squeaked out two words before his gaze snapped to her. The rest of the statement died in her throat upon impact. The look in his eyes, even dimmed under the light of the television, made her freeze, too scared to so much as even breathe. Not even the sight of Malekith looming over London had struck this much fear into her heart.

There was no trace of the smirking, sometimes grumpy ex-solider in front of her. Nothing of the man that she spent her evenings with, who referred to her as ‘doll’ now and again. There was nothing in his gaze but red-eyed rage.

       It was gut instinct that made her jump and run for the door. Her body sensed the danger and forced her to react.

       Darcy skidded across the hardwood, aiming for the front door, terrified she wouldn’t make it in time. Her fingertips brushed the knob, but Bucky was right behind her.

       His metal hand grasped her bicep and he yanked her back before throwing her against the door. Her teeth clamped together as her head hit the wooden door, the sound reverberating against her skull. Her vision wobbled but not so much that she didn’t see the gleam of the knife he brandished in his palm.

       One hand held her in place and she tore her gaze away from the knife to Bucky’s eyes, daring to look once more and afraid to see the same cold-killer stare she had before.

       “Stop!” She begged. “It’s m-me! It’s Darcy! Wake up!”

       She wasn’t sure if he was still sleeping, caught in the dream, or awake and aware. The metal fingers of his cybernetic arms squeezed her bicep and she braced herself for what was coming, watching as he drew back the hand with the knife.

       “Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!”

       The two words spilled out from her shaking lips over and over again. She didn’t know if she was talking to him, or herself, hoping to the gods above watching over all of the nine realms that she was just having a nightmare of her own.

       The knife arced down, slashing through the air and Darcy screamed one final time.

       “BUCKY!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for the continued encouragement with this one shot series! I appreciate every comment and kudo I receive!!
> 
> I'll try to get the next one out soon, because this one ended on a cliff, but I do have a lot of stuff going on in real life land, so if it doesn't happen until next week...don't be surprised.
> 
> In the mean time...
> 
> follow me on tumblr at hybridlovelies


	4. Part III: Anger

BUCKY!

           Her scream would stay with him long after every other sound in existence would become forgotten. The high pitch would haunt even when he was cold and rotting in his grave. He’d never heard fear like that before, though he was certain he’d crossed paths with it a thousand times before. Every innocent life he’d taken, whether by purpose or because that person just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, had most likely cried out with the same pitch of abject terror.

       Hers was another to add to the list.

Only his ears had never bothered to note it. The soldier’s ears were deaf to the fearful cry of casualties.

       The call of his name—snapped him out of it.

       At the last possible second the blade twitched up and his eyes slammed shut. When he pried them open again, he spotted the trickle of crimson sliding down her clavicle, a quarter inch slice into the flesh of her throat. Darcy had turned in the opposite direction, eyes squeezed shut, tears rolling down her cheeks.

       Seconds ticked by, but it felt like goddamn hours, until she forced her eyes open and looked at him. Her chest heaved up and down, up and down, up and down.

       Bucky met her jade gaze, unsure what the hell had just happened, unsure of what had brought him to that dark, mindless place. However, standing in front of her as she cried and bled under his fists, he was sure of one thing.

       Carefully, he pulled the knife away from where it stuck to the back of the door, wary of slicing into her further, and backed away.

       “Go,” he whispered, throat like sandpaper. He trembled, hot waves of anger rolling through him, residual of what he’d been feeling as he’d awoken and attacked.

       Pale faced and wide eyed, she hesitated. Bucky ground his teeth.

       “LEAVE!”

       His roar was enough to spurn her into action. Darcy whirled in a flurry of fear. She yanked open his front door and bolted down the hall. Bucky slammed it behind her, banging his forehead into the wood. He gasped for breath, for thought, for anything that would rewind the entire night and take it down a different path. A path that didn’t end in tears and anger.

The knife fell from his hand and clattered to the floor.

.

.

.

.

.

.

       She didn’t slept the night it happened.

       Once she’d hauled ass back to her apartment and locked herself inside, she crumpled into a ball at the door, shaking and crying. Bucky coming at her with a knife wasn’t the most sinister thing she’d faced in her young life--especially in recent years--but it was by far the most terrifying. Maybe because he was her friend and she’d never for a second thought that she’d ever find herself in that situation.

       Triggering the darkness within had been a harsh reminder of the cold blooded, brainwashed killer that still lived beneath the surface of his smirks and endearments.

       She’d been foolish, she knew that. She’d been lucky, too. The realization of the latter made her realize that she needed to apologize to him for not being more careful. She’d been irresponsible with their budding friendship. If something more severe had happened, the consequences for him would have been substantial. The toll it could take on Steve, seeing Bucky relapse badly enough to blindly kill her, facing the possibility that perhaps he was too far gone. Any of the tentative trust that could have been built between Bucky and the rest of the team would have been completely undone.

       Using half a box of Ironman cartoon band-aids, Darcy had cleaned up the slice from the stab, and tried to sleep. All these thoughts swirling in her head.

       The next day, when she sought him out, to talk and apologize and hear an apology in return, she found her access to his floor revoked.

       “My apologies, Miss Lewis,” Jarvis told her as she stood in the elevator, pressing the button to Bucky’s floor. “Sergeant Barnes has denied access to any visitors, except for Captain Rogers.”

       “It’s okay, Jarvis.”

It was probably for the best anyways. Darcy always liked to meet problems head-on and talk them out as soon as possible. Her mother often warned her that sometimes, other people needed time to sort through their feelings and emotions, so they didn’t end up saying something they might regret. Darcy wanted to respect Bucky’s need for space. Though wondering how long he might need was killing her.

“Jarvis, can you let me know if he’s not eating and taking care of himself?”

       “Unfortunately, I am unable to report on his behavior. Sharing this information would violate my privacy protocols.”

       Darcy’s mouth twisted to one side. “Override privacy protocols.”

       “Override denied, Miss Lewis. Only Mr. Stark or Ms. Potts have access to override protocols.”

       Darcy slumped back against the elevator walls, blowing out a breath, and staring at her sad reflection in the mirrored sliding doors. “It was worth a shot, I guess.”

       “Yes, Miss Lewis,” Jarvis responded. “It certainly was.”

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

       He didn’t sleep in the days after it happened. Not more than an hour or two at a time. When he did, he’d lock down his entire floor, instructing the AI Jarvis not to let him out unless he seemed clear headed.

       Jarvis reported that Darcy had come by to see him the morning after, but Bucky ignored it. He wasn’t ready to see her yet. He didn’t think he could look at her. All he could think of was the blind way he’d gone after her and the fall of scarlet from her skin where he’d nearly taken out her jugular.

       All he could feel was anger.

       Anger at himself for allowing her to get so close. Anger for ignoring the way she trusted him. Anger at Hydra and Zola for making him like this in the first place. It vibrated through his bones and shook every nerve in his body.

       During his waking hours, he used the gym facilities at Stark Tower to work out his anger. He wore down two of the treadmills and even broke Steve’s record for destroying punching bags.

       Soaked in sweat and rage, he was interrupted one afternoon by Tony Stark himself, just as another bag went sailing across the training room.

       “You know,” the billionaire said. “We may have to instate a new rule for you and the good captain when it comes to gym equipment. You break it, you bought it.”

       The quip did nothing to endear the man to Bucky. He knew Steve didn’t always see eye to eye with his iron teammate. Darcy mentioned the way Stark used sarcasm to put everyone off and how important it was to break beyond that to the man inside. She could see the good in people. Maybe that was her problem.

       “I’m serious,” Tony continued. “I’ll start garnishing your wages.”

       Bucky sniffed, sweat dripping from his nose, his drenched brown hair plastered to his neck and forehead. He wiped his arm across his face. “Not exactly getting paid to be here.”

       Tony’s brows flickered. “No, you’re just squatting. Until you go crazy and kill all of us or…”

       Bucky’s interest piqued at Stark’s trail of words. He wondered if Tony knew anything about what had nearly happened with Darcy.

       “I bet you haven’t had decent maintenance on that arm in a while,” Tony said, jabbing a finger toward Bucky’s cybernetic arm.

       He usually took care to keep it covered when out of his apartments. Though recently, it seemed like a good idea to leave the metal on display, to remind anyone he passed not to get too close. Unfortunately, it wasn’t working on Stark. He stared at the arm with a gleam in his eye.

       It was true, though. It had been a while since his arm received any routine upkeep. Bucky knew a few tricks. Hydra techs had instructed him just enough so that when he was out on missions, he could take care of himself. The long haul things and other tech issues he wasn’t so great at.

       “Come on. We’ll go down to the labs, run some diagnostics, make some tweaks…twenty minutes tops.”

          

.

.

.

.

.

       Tony sequestered them away in one of the private lab rooms to avoid any prying eyes. Bucky sat in an uncomfortable high backed stool, his metal arm propped up on the tall lab table. He refused to sit in anything that resembled the cold, reclined chair he was forced into at the Hydra labs.

       Tony rolled over to him, seated on a short black stool. Tools appeared from thin air as the genius billionaire hooked him up to a small computer and did a few rudimentary scans to examine the technology, tinkering and muttering notes to his AI as he worked. After a few minutes he paused and hummed in thought.

       “I’m impressed,” Tony said, eyeing the reads of the cybernetic technology. “The metal composition alone is beyond anything that I’ve ever worked with. Dent resistant, barely a scratch on it. If this were the old days, before I developed the small moral compass I possess now, I’d slap you down on the table and open this baby up to figure out what makes it tick.”

       Bucky tensed but Tony paid it no mind. “Relax grumpy,” he intoned. “If I was planning to take advantage of you, I’d at least take you out for dinner and drinks first.”

       Slowly, Bucky the tension in his muscles unknotted again, as Tony continued to work.

       “I can feel it rolling off of you,” he said. “The anger. You wanna talk about it?”

       “No.”

       “Gotta talk to somebody,” he continued. “PTSD isn’t just going to take care of itself. Me, I prefer scotch to shrinks and anti-psychotics but if whatever super-soldier shit you have running through you is anything like the Cap, getting drunk isn’t really an option.”

       Bucky certainly missed the getting drunk option. Through hazy memories, he could recall the time during the war, how guys in the trenches would keep a flask on hand to take the edge off. Whether it was fear or guilt running through them, a few hits and the effects of all the bullets and bloodshed became less intense.

       He’d even hit a few bars back then, when on leave in Europe, to blind himself to the after effects of seeing the things he’d seen. At that point, ee hadn’t a clue then to the horrors he would witness, the torture he would go through.

       For what reason? What was the point of it all?

       He had survived, but it wasn’t a happy ending.*

       Bucky had nothing, no purpose, no place in the world he woke up in. He wasn’t even sure who the hell he was most days or what he was going to end up thinking. He had no control over himself. No control over the instinct at waking from a blood soaked nightmare, with a beautiful girl in his lap, only to run at her with a knife.

       “The longer you keep making that fist, the longer this is going to take.” Tony broke into his morose musings, glancing at him out of the cut of his eye.

       Bucky flexed his metal fingers and took a deep breath, concentrating on keeping himself in check.

       “Think about the shrink thing,” Stark said without looking at him.

       Bucky would think about it. He had to do something. It seemed like as good an option as anything. At least he would know then, if he was beyond repair.

       “There,” Stark said. “Good as new.”

       Bucky flexed his arm, noticing the movement was easier and the increased read on the pressure sensors. If only his brain was that easy to repair.

.

.

.

.

.

       Darcy was in the lab, inputting some shorthand notes into her fancy organizational system on her laptop. Music blasted through her fancy, new noise-cancelling headphones, preventing her from hearing someone approach before they had a chance to tap her shoulder.

       She jumped and whirled around, wanting to smack the person behind her as soon as she saw him and registered that it wasn’t a ghost or some other nefarious being about to end her life.

       “Jesus Christ!” She yelled, catching her breath, and trying to slow her heart.

       “I told you before, Lewis, you can just call me Tony.” He smirked at her, walking around to the other side of the table, pretending to flippantly regard her notes.

Darcy knew he was actually trying to read them. However, he was out of luck. Darcy’s short hand was only decipherable to Darcy. Jane preferred it that way. She didn’t want Stark getting to close to some of her work, in spite of the fact that they were technically on the same team.

Darcy flipped the notebook shut and slapped his hand away.

“Don’t you have anything better to do with your time than scare the crap out of innocent lab assistants.”

“I’ve seen you after a few shots of tequila, kid. I’d hardly call you innocent,” he quipped. “Just doing my good deed for the week. Karma and all.”

Darcy shot him a questioning look, unable to follow what the hell he was saying. Tony picked her pen up and used it to gesture for her to turn around. Still confused, she half did what he instructed, glancing over her shoulder and finding herself startled for the second time in less than five minutes.

Bucky stood in the doorway behind her, metal arm on full display, hair falling loose around a void, yet tense face.

“You aren’t usually this jumpy,” Tony continued. “Hey, what happened to your neck?”

Darcy spun again, hand flying up to the collection of Band-Aids covering the cut on her neck. “Nothing, I—experiment gone awry.”

That was one way of putting it. She was painfully aware of Bucky’s silent presence behind her.

“Nice band aids.”

Darcy scoffed and Tony chuckled, leaving the lab, throwing a comment over her shoulder about burgers and beer on the rooftop later.

Bucky was behind her still. She turned to face him, seeing that stoic look still plastered to his face. It reminded her of the look he’d given her when they first met, weary, suspicious, unsure. She hated it.

“That needs stitches, not bandages,” he said in a rough voice.

“Yeah, well, stitches require a trip to medical and at medical there will be questions and you haven’t experienced office gossip until you’ve worked for a company full of scientists, spies, and superheroes. It’s ironic.”

“You shouldn’t worry about protecting me.”

“It was a mistake—“

“It was beyond a mistake. I almost killed you.”

“But you didn’t,” Darcy rushed on. “Yeah, you scared the fuck out of me, but you stopped yourself. That has to count for something.” She wanted to reach out to him, give him some sort of playful punch on the arm, to try and lighten the mood, but she figured it probably wouldn’t go over very well.

“Maybe if we just establish some ground rules—“

“I don’t think we should see each other.”

The words rushed out so fast Darcy wasn’t sure she heard correctly. When she had a chance to replay them in her mind and comprehend, she let out a short laugh. “Dude, it sounds like you’re breaking up with me.”

Bucky couldn’t look at her. “I appreciate your help, but it’s too dangerous. I’m…not…stable. And I don’t know if I ever will be.”

“I thought we were friends?” She tried to hide the hurt in her voice, but knew she failed miserably. Bucky squared his jaw. “Don’t you think this is a little dramatic?”

“I’m not what you think,” he replied. “I’m not Stark or Thor or Steve. I was created to be a weapon. That’s what I am--”

“For now,” Darcy tried. “But not even so much anymore. You can’t see how far you’ve come. You’re not the same guy that I met a month ago.”

“You mean the guy holding a gun to your head?” he asked, letting out a derisive laugh. “No, now I’m just the guy stabbing you in the middle of the night.”

“So, no more sleepovers,” Darcy suggested. “It’s not like you just try to attack me in the middle of dinner or a movie. Right now you seem like you’re doing pretty well with not wanting to try and kill anyone.”

It was a feeble attempt to laugh the whole thing off, to get him to crack any sort of emotion other than the coldness that seemed to have completely consumed him.

“Maybe another time, another place, we would have been friends, dol—Darcy. But it’s not a good idea right now.”

Her eyes flicked up at the almost used endearment, hope flickering and fading within her chest. Something told her he was imposing the friendship ban out of guilt or self-loathing or some other stupid reason and there would be little she could do to convince him to change his mind.

She turned and collected her laptop and notebook, shoving them into her messenger bag.

“Fine,” she said. “If that’s what you think is best, then whatever. I’m not going to stand here and beg you to be my friend.”

She shouldered her bag and stomped toward the door. Curls fell from the bun she had piled on top of her head as she rushed away. She paused at the door to the hallway. “Just…do me a favor?” Bucky met her gaze. “Take care of yourself. And get some help. Some actual help. This world doesn’t need another brooding, self-destructive superhero. This tower alone is beyond full of them, just…get some help, dude.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *the asterisked line is something I appropriated from the book The Things They Carried by Timothy O'Brien. Awesome book. The actual line is "I survived, but it's not a happy ending."
> 
> Sorry about the delay! I tried really hard to get this done before I went on my vacation over the weekend, but then wanted to spend a little more time with it. I'm sort of trying to keep to the emotions theme with each chapter being Bucky experiencing a new emotion. I read up on brainwashing victims and emotional deprogramming for some inspiration. Apparently there is a euphoric state for victims that can happen, right before it bombs a little into dark territory. I guess this chapter was sort of the bomb.
> 
> I have head canons for why Tony approached Bucky and is the first Avenger to interact with him besides Nat or Steve. Not sure if they'll come up in this fic, because it's not real a plot driven fic this time around...but I can't goddamn help myself thinking of these extra things haha
> 
> The next chapter will probably skip ahead a few months. Bucky will have been in some therapy for a while and we'll see how he's doing and what cause him and Darcy to cross paths yet again :)
> 
> Thanks again for all the reviews and comments! I didn't get to answer them all on the last part, but I'll try again for this one. 
> 
> Also thank you to Ashley (jomosfamilyjewels on tumblr) for beta help!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr at hybridlovelies


	5. Part IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, FYI, I think I'm dropping the chapter titles as emotions...because this is become a little different than originally planned. I'm along for the ride, same as you guys. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Oh, and I'm not at all a psychologist, so my apologies for anything incorrect I may say in reference to therapy or mental health related things for Bucky.
> 
> Thank you to Ashley (jomosfamilyjewels on tumblr) for beta-ing!! xoxo

P A R T  I V

 

Darcy had been looking forward to the vacation, even though Jane kept insisting a trip to UC Berkeley for a guest lecture on Cosmology didn’t count as a vacation.

“Jane,” Darcy told her. “We’re getting out of the state for the first time in months. At this point, I’d count a trip to Jersey as a vacation.”

Jane rolled her eyes affectionately and buckled the seatbelt. Darcy eased back into the comfy, leather seat. Flying private certainly had its perks. Tony didn’t exactly offer a hired plane for the occasion, but Darcy gave Thor an innocent nudge and then Thor gave Tony a nudge. A Norse god tends to nudge a little differently than mere mortals, so it wasn’t a day later that Stark insisted Jane and Darcy travel in style.

Plush reclining seats, lots of legroom, free alcohol, and delicious hot meals included. Darcy could definitely get used to the billionaire life.

Darcy wouldn’t have much to do while Jane lectured. She didn’t have much interest in sitting in on a lecture on a subject she knew very little about. As she settled in, she pulled up her iPad, and took a look at some of the courses and lectures going on around campus at the same time they would be there.

She face palmed herself when she realized that she was looking for work to do, rather than fun to be had. It was her vacation, away from research and study, she was going about it all backwards. Jane’s work-aholicness was starting to rub off on her after three years together. She face palmed again, hitting her forehead a little harder than necessary.

“Careful, don’t want to cause any permanent damage.”

Darcy looked up and saw the white, toothed smile of Captain America himself, Steve Rogers. She’d never actually met him before, not in person. Of course she’d seen him around the tower, and heard all about him from Bucky—during their brief friendship stint almost three months ago—but she couldn’t recall ever saying maybe more than five words to him.

“Hi, I’m Steve,” he said, offering his hand.

Darcy was a bonafide heterosexual woman, and while she didn’t always like guys that appeared that clean cut, there was something to be said for the his shiny blonde hair and the way the white t-shirt he wore stretched across his biceps and full chest.

Captain America was hot in pictures, but damn he was even hotter in person.

Captain America was also staring at her, waiting for her to shake his hand and complete the whole introduction ritual.

Darcy shook herself out of her mental boner and took his hand.

“Larcy Dewis.” She cringed, wishing that she wasn’t the world’s biggest spaz. “Darcy Lewis, I mean.”

Steve let out a good-natured chuckle, shaking her hand. His blue eyes sparkled. He really was a walking star spangled banner.

       “Rogers, what are you doing here?” Jane jumped up out of her seat. Darcy joined noticing Jane take her feisty scientist stance. It was kind of like watching a kitten try to intimidate a golden retriever.

       “We’ve heard some rumors about some hostile environments over the lectures out west. Just want to make sure you and Miss Lewis are safe and sound during your visit.”

       Jane crossed her arms. “And so SHEILD sends Captain America to be my personal body guard? I’m sure that you have better things you could be doing. Why not send a low level agent?”

       “Jane…” Darcy nudged her with her hip. “The hot super hero wants to protect us, not sure why you’re turning that down.”

       Steve ducked his head and Darcy swore she saw him blush over her comment. “Actually we have a mutual friend who asked me to escort you while he couldn’t be here.”

       “Oh.” Thor wanting to look out for her shut Jane up. Since ditching her in New Mexico and again for a brief period in London, Thor often found small ways to let Jane know that he was thinking of her, that he would return, and that she was still the center of the nine realms to him.

       Darcy’s scientist sat back down, failing to hide the small stretch of grin on her face. Jane grabbed her phone and Darcy wondered for the first time if Thor got service on Asgard.

       “Sorry, I’m late.”

       A rusty voice spoke up behind Steve and a new face appeared in the doorway of the plane. It wasn’t a new face to Darcy, it was just one she hadn’t seen in three months.

       After he ended their brief friendship, Bucky had up and disappeared. As it turned out, he was really good at not being seen if he didn’t want to be. Darcy tried to catch glimpses of him when he came down to the labs for maintenance or when Steve was around or when she made deliveries to his floor.

       She guessed being exceptionally good at stealth probably came easy to him after being a super-secret, ghost legend assassin for seventy years.

       He looked good, though. Still far from clean cut, he had a dusting of beard along his jaw and his hair was still on the longer side. It was almost to his chin. Darcy could see the difference in his face, though. The hollows in his cheeks had filled and the darkness under his eyes had faded.

       His gaze was sharper, more present, though still a tad wary and uncertain. It took her a full minute of distracted assessing to realize that steel-eyed gaze was focused directly at her.

       “No problem, just making new friends,” Steve said to him. “Bucky, this is Jane and Darcy…”

       Bucky didn’t move forward to shake anyone’s hands. His metal arm covered by a leather jacket and a black glove masked his metal hand. He gave each of them a slight head nod, his eyes flicking away from Darcy.

       Steve was explaining that Jane was the astrophysicist that he’d been telling Bucky about and Darcy was her assistant, but Darcy didn’t hear it. In that moment she realized how much she’d missed her friend.

       Sure, she’d felt it in that first week and hoped like hell he’d change his mind and decide he had space for her on his road to recovery. But life happened and she got busy and distracted with super secret science situations between Earth and Asgard and she didn’t have time to miss him.

       Standing in front of him, with his gaze trained on her, she recalled the instant connection that she’d felt towards him and really, really missed that.

       “Anyways,” Steve was ending his introduction. “This is Sergeant James Barnes.”

       .

.

.

.

.

.

       It was a cut and dry mission. Escorting the scientist Dr. Jane Foster to California, ensuring her safety, and escorting her back. Because it was something easy, Steve suggested it as Bucky’s first field assignment.

       Bucky was doing better. He felt more in control. He’d followed the advice of Tony and Darcy and got help dealing with everything. Steve had a friend, Sam, who had connections and was able to set him up with a therapist. They met online once or twice a week. At first, Bucky was weary of talking to a stranger about his inner demons. Wary that anyone could belong to Hydra and anything he might say would be used against him at some point.

       He eventually realized it was going to be a gamble he would have to take. Jarvis monitored his Internet connection through each session, aware of any eavesdroppers, and he started to make progress with his doctor.

       She started talking to him about emotional deprogramming and how he would have to rebuild the way he felt and thought about those feelings. She suggested that he start writing down moments of extreme stress or worry or happiness or anger to so that he would notice patterns or triggers to be aware of and how to deal with each emotion as it came. Eventually he wouldn’t need the emotional diary anymore, but for the time, he kept the leather bound journal on his person almost everywhere he went.

       He pulled it out during takeoff and started writing, trying to sort out what he was feeling at seeing Darcy again. He’d kept his distance from her after he’d attacked her, but he still thought about her often. Still not understanding why she chose to try and be his friend.

       Steve was his friend because he’d always been his friend. Even when Bucky was trying to kill him, Steve had cared about him. Natasha, Tony, anyone else that tried to interact with him did it because they cared about Steve. Their attempts at friendship were transitive.

       Darcy’s friendship was genuine. She offered it because she was kind. Bucky hadn’t met someone like that in a long, long time. Memories of his former self pushed at his brain. The old Bucky would have done the same, he realized. The one who befriended punk-ass little kids who like to get into fights and didn’t have anyone else to rely on.

       .

.

.

.

.

       Darcy’s vacation dreams were soon dashed. It was like the intern years all over again, running back and forth, grabbing whatever Jane needed. Whether it was the notes she’d left in their hotel room or an extra cup of coffee. A few of the professors and some of the grad students pulled Jane aside wanting her opinion on experiments they were running or advice on this or that science thing.

       Most of them quickly figured out that Darcy wasn’t worth speaking to; just because she spent her time around scientist didn’t mean she had half an idea what the hell they were saying. She’d learned a lot from Erik and Jane during her stint in New Mexico and after, but when they went down those dark, theoretical physics rabbit holes, she just couldn’t followed.

       It only took her about half a day to realize Bucky was shadowing her wherever she went. That first evening, as she was turning in for the night, she caught the elusive Sargent when she made a break for the snack bar at the end of the hall, craving a late night treat.

       When she rounded the corner back to her room Bucky was there, like a grumpy sorority mother, making sure his charge made it back before curfew.

       Dressed in comfy PJs, her favorite gray sweats that trailed to the floor and covered her feet, Darcy waved a frozen Snickers bar in the air for him to see. “You know if you want to hang out, you can just ask. You don’t have to follow me like a creeper.”

       His face remained passive. He was still dressed in his civvies and Darcy wondered—in her infinite exhaustion from traveling all day—what The Winter Soldier wore for pajamas.

       “I’m supposed to keep an eye on you. Steve is charged with keeping an eye on Dr. Foster. You’re my charge for the next two days,” he replied.

       “I don’t see Steve watching over Jane right now?”

       His shoulders shifted, Darcy noted it as an awkward twitch. “Dr. Foster stayed in her room. If she left, he would be alerted.”

       “Oh.” A small sense of dejection unfurled in her chest. She’d been kind of hoping that Bucky was lingering around waiting for her because maybe he missed hanging out with her, too. “Okay, well, good night.”

       “Good night,” he said without a hint of familiarity.

       Darcy shut the door to her room and flipped the metal lock. She glanced down at the ice cream treat in her hand, not feeling all that hungry anymore.

.

.

.

.

.

       The final day of the lecture series didn’t come fast enough. Darcy wanted a vacation for the vacation. Not that it was anything like a vacation. And was made even worse by trying to avoid eye contact with her personal bodyguard, Sergeant James Barnes. She felt like an idiot.

       Darcy was as confident as any other twenty-something girl could be. Her parents had raised her with an excellent sense of self worth and she never doubted her brain or skills or value. However, spending the past few years around geniuses and gods and superheroes did put her life into rather harsh perspective.

       It made sense that Bucky was regarding her with total professionalism. She was his assignment. His boring assignment—it’s not like anyone would actually try to mess with her.

       She was at a campus coffee cart, admiring the fall foliage falling onto the emerald Berkeley quad, waiting for her latte.

       Bucky hovered at the other edge of the cart, watching the student stuck behind the counter pull espresso shots. Darcy noticed the barista shooting Bucky nervous looks. When the poor boy spilled a shot of espresso and had to start her latte over, she let out a huge groan, directed at the black-clad bodyguard at the end of the cart.

       “Sorry,” Darcy apologized to the skinny hipster boy, rushing over to Bucky and looping her arm around his elbow. “Over protective boyfriend. He was in the army. We’ll be going.”

       She tugged and dragged Bucky away from the coffee cart. Once they were a safe distance across the quad, Darcy stopped and faced him.

       “If you’re going to protectively lurk, you need to do it in a less creepy, intimidating way.”

       “What?”

       “Over there, looming over the coffee cart. That poor guy probably thought you were about to jump over the counter and strangle him with the way you were acting.” Bucky glared in the direction of the coffee cart. Darcy pointed at his face. “That is exactly what I’m talking about, that look right there. Lighten up, man. We’re at college. Nothing is going to kill anyone at college, besides maybe finals week.”

       Bucky looked down at his metal arm. It was covered by a black jacket—as usual—and locked in Darcy’s grip. She was practically hugging his arm. Darcy realized this at the same time he did and let go, moving out of his space and brushing his sleeve as she went.

       “Sorry, dude.”

       “It’s alright.”

       A few moments passed, chatter filling the crisp air around them. The alarm on Darcy’s phone went off, breaking the tension, and she fished it out of her coat pocket.

       “Crap, I’m going to be late. No time for coffee now.” Darcy looked up and pointed a finger at Bucky. “I blame you for this. You owe me a latte. Hell hath no fury like an uncaffinated woman.”

The sped toward the lecture hall and Darcy mentally prepared herself to get through the morning without her caffeine dose.

       Later, when Darcy came back from the short break in the middle of the lecture, there was a small cup sitting next to her note filled laptop that hadn’t been there when she got up to stretch her legs. Steam and cinnamon wafted to her nose from the small, sipping hole at the top. She spun the cup to the other side and saw the word Doll scrawled on the side.

       Bucky stood to the back of the hall, keeping to the corner. He still looked tense and intimidating and students were still avoiding him. Darcy laughed and shook her head, turning back as the professor began to call the hall back to order. She took a sip; perfect amount of cinnamon and nutmeg.

       She didn’t turn back, but she raised the cup up to cheers Bucky.

       He saw it and allowed himself a small, private grin.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

       The trip got a lot more exciting the hour before they left Berkeley.

       Their flight was at three. Jane was packing up her things when she got a call from one of the professors, someone she’d heard of but hadn’t actually met yet. He apologized profusely, in an accented voice, for intruding on her privacy and filching her number from one of his colleagues. He had a group of students who weren’t as privileged at the others to be graced with her time, but was hoping she could spare a half hour to come speak with them.

       Jane, of course, said she would. Thirty minutes wouldn’t hurt to spare if they stuck to it. Bucky and Steve helped load up the town car before they left and the four of them road to the small set of labs at the edge of campus. The upkeep on these weren’t as pristine as the labs Darcy had toured for the past couple of days.

       She wondered why any of the students would be regulated to these labs.

       The scientist Jane spoke with on the phone approached them at the double doors of the entrance and introduced himself, apologizing again. And again. And again. He apologized a lot. Darcy thought he needed to chill.

       Hindsight is twenty-twenty, though. Later she would realize that he was actually apologizing for the fact that he lured them into an explosive trap. His special student group was running later, from across campus, they should be there soon. He passed out lab coats and goggles to her and Jane, looking at the men regretfully stating that he didn’t have extras. Steve and Bucky lingered behind in the hallway, having some sort of super secret conversation. Darcy tried to eavesdrop a little, her curiosity getting the best of her, and thought she heard Steve say something to Bucky about doing well the past few days.

Six minutes later, Darcy felt her body thrown back by hot air and fire and after that she wasn’t thinking much of anything at all.

.

.

.

.

.

       Bucky and Steve were down the hall when they saw the blast. Fire roared out from the doorway where Darcy and Jane had followed the professor. A second later, both he and Steve had guns out, alert and searching the area for enemies.

       Bucky made it into the lab first. There was smoke and fire coming from an interior room, completely blacked out from the explosion. That must have been where the bomb had been. Shattered glass and broken equipment smoldered in the area all around the main lab. Steel tables were overturned.

       His eyes frantically scanned the room, until he spotted damp brown curls peeking out from one of the overturned lab tables. He moved forward, ignoring the better sense that told him the scene wasn’t yet secured. Steve said something about checking for other bombs and Foster, but Bucky’s ears failed him. He rushed toward Darcy, cool sprinkler water raining down on him from the ceiling, glass crunching under his boots.

       Her hand, lay limp on the ground cover in dirt and red, the sleeve of her lab coat scorched. With extra care, he lifted the table away from her, frantic Russian prayers slipping out that he didn’t even realize he knew.

       The goggles on her face her covered in soot and he pulled them off. Her glasses on her face were cracked over closed eyes. Bucky removed them too and tossed them aside, cradling a hand behind her neck, trying to figure out if she was still alive. He found a pulse and bent to put his ear near her mouth, trying to get a sense if she was breathing. Darcy coughed.

       He pulled back, still holding onto her, unwilling to let relief snatch him yet. Her green eyes fluttered and she groaned in pain, until she met his gaze. A sleepy sort of smile spread across her face. A sharp cut across her cheek leaked blood.

       “Hey doll,” she murmured, her voice slurring, her grin widening. Her head lolled to the side again.

       Bucky shook her. “Darcy! Don’t sleep, come on!”

       She didn’t listen to him. Bucky heard Steve shouting for him to grab her and get going. He scooped up her limp body, ashes and glass falling from her as he situated her into his arms. Foster was conscious, leaning against Steve, who looked down at Darcy’s limp form, sadness in his eyes. Foster gasped at the sight of her friend in Bucky’s arms.

       “She’s alive,” Bucky told both of them. “The professor?”

       “Dead,” Steve reported. Behind the two of them, Bucky saw the man’s lifeless body, a piece of wayward equipment impaled through his eye.

       It was terrible and Bucky knew later that it was the old him clawing to the surface, but he was glad to see the man dead. If he hadn’t been, Bucky would have done the job himself. In his rage he would have ripped the small man apart for causing harm to Darcy.

The girl murmured, calling his attention to the task at hand, and bringing him out of his vengeful thoughts.

       “Let’s go,” he ordered, leading them out, an unconscious Darcy tucked into his arms.

.

.

.

.

.

       Darcy woke up back in New York in the medical wing of the Avengers Tower. Jane was at her bedside, drooling on Thor’s muscular chest. It wasn’t the first time she’d awoken. She’d woken once in the car as they rushed to the airport and a few times more as Bucky assessed whether she had a concussion, willing her not to stay asleep just in case.

       Doctor Helen Cho determined that she continued to pass out because of pain and shock. When all was said and done she’d acquired a couple bruised ribs from possibly hitting a lab table as she was blown away and an impressive collection of contusions and shallow cuts. The one on her face needed stitches. However, because she was in a specialized medical facility--financed by Tony Stark--that included top-of-the-line and innovative recovery procedures, the doctor used some kind of glue/serum that helped with pain and left her with a red line across her face for the time being, instead of normal sutures.

       The doctor told her she wouldn’t scar and Darcy was just vain enough to be relieved.

       It touched her that Thor had been there when she’d woken up. The muscle bound god of thunder told her that of course he would be by her side. She was his sworn shield sister and he would always watch over her.

       Jane limped around the hospital bed, one leg wrapped in a bandage, suffering from a not pretty second-degree burn.

       The news on the television reported the attack as religious zealots zoning in on Jane and her work in what the media liked to call “Other World Sciences.”

       The Berkley science professor, the one who had escorted them to the bomb, was being described as a lone activist. Dr. Edwin Hodges—who was reported dead at the scene—was known for causing some controversy within the scientific community of Berkeley, often finding himself reprimanded for allowing his religious convictions to bleed into his scientific teachings.

       A later report confirmed finding a small manifesto and suicide note, alleging that had the professor not died in the blast, he would have made a martyr of himself anyways and sighted many mentions of Jane’s work and stating that “Satan deceived Eve to sin and in her pursuit, she convinced Adam to join her.”

       Darcy felt bad for laughing, but the way Jane went off the rails about being compared to biblical Eve and responsible for the “new-age fall of man” was too hilarious.

       Jane and Thor left the room when Doctor Cho returned to check over Darcy’s injuries and vitals. Darcy noticed the way the woman checked out Thor as he exited the room, letting out a little, regretful sigh.

       She announced that after twenty-four hours of no other serious injuries making themselves known, she was released from medical. Darcy tried to hop off the bed in glee, but her bruised ribs reminded her that wasn’t a good idea.

       The lab coat and singed clothes she’d been wearing the day of the explosion had been discarded. One of the nurses brought her a pair of scrubs to get her back to her apartment. Changing proved difficult. Her ribs didn’t want her arms to move very far, but she slowly got dressed and made it to the elevators.

       “You’re all right.”

       Darcy jumped and grabbed her side in pain as a result. “Jesus! Ow! Fuck! You scared me!”

       Bucky materialized next to her, looking concerned and relieved all at once.

       “I’m coming from a therapy session,” he explained. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

       The elevator beeped and they got on. Darcy reached to press the button to her floor, but Bucky beat her to it.

       “How’s that going, anyways?” she inquired.

       “Good,” he replied. “There’s still a long way to go.”

       The normally speedy hydraulic elevator seemed to be taking its sweet time getting to her floor. Darcy tapped her foot, her teeth pulling at her lip. Bucky remained facing forward.

       “Thanks for pulling me out of the smoldering rubble, by the way.”

       “You remember that?”

       “Kinda. Jane filled me in for the most part.”

       Finally the doors slid open and announced her floor. Darcy lingered for a moment and then shot him a weak smile. “Okay, see ya around.”

       She walked out of the elevator and made it about five steps when she heard a slamming noise behind her and another ring of the elevator.

       “Wait,” Bucky’s hand blocked the doors from shutting, his head hanging down between his shoulders, having an internal debate with himself. “Let me walk you to your door.”

       Darcy was about to protest, but Bucky was already stepping out of the elevator to join her. The hallway wasn’t that long and her door wasn’t that far of a walk, but the two of them both fell into a slow, silent pace until they reached their destination.

       “Did you want to talk about something?” Darcy guessed as they stopped in front of her apartment.

       “I wanted to apologize,” he admitted. “I—I realized something.” He made a couple of false starts, his gaze turned to the air beside them. Darcy waited as patiently as she could for him to keep going, watching the internal debate continue over his facial features, a pronounced V etching a place between his brows. “I want to be your friend…again. I just, don’t know what benefit it would be to you.”

       “Bucky,” she said. “People aren’t friends because it can benefit them in some way—well, actually sometimes they are but that’s a whole other ballgame—what I mean is, you become friends with someone because…I don’t know…you like them, you like the same stuff, they make you laugh…things like that.”

       His eyes flicked up to her face, blue and oddly vulnerable for someone that defaulted to intimidating most of the time. “It’s been awhile since I’ve known someone like that. I’m trying to remember what that’s like.”

       “Well, whenever you need help,” she thumbed in the direction of her apartment. “You know where to find me.”

A little smile flickered across his lips. “Yeah, sounds good.”

Darcy went inside, shutting the door and taking a moment to lean back against it, and smiled.

Her side hurt, her face hurt, she was scraped and bruised almost everywhere and dying for some aspirin. But all in all, she felt pretty damn good.

**  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and for the comments and kudos!!
> 
> This is a little unrelated...but if you guys could take a second an go vote for me in this fanfic contest on Inkitt, I would love you! It takes about two seconds, just go to the link below.
> 
> http://www.inkitt.com/stories/30748
> 
> The winner gets chance to have their fic developed into an original, published work. It would mean a lot to me for this to happen. If you like my writing, spare a moment eh?
> 
> follow me on tumblr at hybridlovelies


	6. Part V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky teaches Darcy a little bit of Russian. And they basically do their homework together.
> 
> thank you Ashley (jomosfamilyjewels on tumblr) for betaing!

**P A R T: V**

 

The “friendship reboot”--as Darcy dubbed it--called for some ground rules. First rule was that dinners and evening hangouts now took place in Darcy’s apartment. Bucky would always have the option to exit if he felt like something was being triggered and wouldn’t worry about kicking Darcy out. If she dozed off on movie nights, it wouldn’t be too big of a deal, because she’d already be in her own home and again Bucky could leave without disturbing her.

       That brought them to the second rule: no sleeping around one another. Bucky’s worst moments were always when he first woke up. He’d worked on some techniques with his therapist to help orient himself upon waking, but sometimes it was difficult to remember who, what, and where he was.

       Darcy slept through the evening her first night out of the hospital—her body still recovering from the trauma--therefore their first new dinner took place the evening after that. Bucky showed up at her apartment with a surprise.

       “I didn’t know you could cook,” Darcy said as she hovered in her kitchen, while Bucky prepared food. He’d brought groceries and ingredients to prepare their meal, moving around the kitchen like a seasoned pro.

       “I learned from watching you,” he replied. A benefit of his training, he explained. He could often learn new skills, simply by observing others. It came in handy when besting enemies; learn their best moves and do them better.

       Darcy’s kitchen was similar to Bucky’s, but smaller. He’d not seen the lower level apartments before. She had a bedroom, a small living area, open kitchen, and single bathroom. He recalled her grumbles that his rooms were much nicer than hers. He thought that if she could see what he’d grown up in back in Brooklyn, she might not complain as much about what she had.

       She poked her tongue out at that.

       “You remember your childhood home?”

       Bucky stopped, not even realizing that another memory of the past had slipped out of its buried place and back to a reachable part of his mind. Every time it happened, he felt a victory and a sadness.

       “I guess I do,” he answered.

       Darcy traced her fingers across her kitchen table. “What did it look like?”

       Bucky tried very hard to envision it. He saw flashes of brown and brick, a window with lace curtains, yellowing slightly from time. Laundry strung up out on the fire escape, held on the line by rough, wooden pins. Cornflower blue walls, pots and pans hanging over the stove. A thick, black cast iron skillet, well loved. His mother sat at the kitchen table, flour dusting her brown hair and faded yellow apron, her crinkled eyes staring at him in confusion.

       “Bucky?”

       No, James. She always called me James.

       “Bucky?”

       He blinked. It wasn’t his mother sitting at the table with confusion in her eyes. It was Darcy, staring up at him from behind her glasses, head cocked to the side.

       He took a deep breath and centered himself.

       He felt the smooth handle of the wooden spoon he held, he smelled the vegetables heating on the stove, he heard the soft music coming from Darcy’s iPod speaker, he saw Darcy sitting at the table, emerald eyes full of worry.

       He cleared his throat and let out a breath. “Yeah, I’m good, just got lost for a minute.”

.

.

.

       After a some one sided dinner conversation, Darcy insisted on doing the clean up. She rinsed plates and tossed them into the dishwasher. Bucky watched her go back and forth from the table to the sink, favoring her uninjured side, using only one hand to do the work. The cut above her cheek is little more than a red splotch across her face.

       He wasn’t sure if he wanted to linger. The evening started well enough. Bucky felt at ease around Darcy, until he’d opened the memory of the small apartment in Brooklyn and his mother. His nerves simmered.

       Darcy moved back and forth, filling the silence with her chatter, they way she usually did when awkward silences lingered between them. She never seemed to mind if he wasn’t listening or fully engaged.

       “Hey.” Bucky stood abruptly and blocked her way.

       Darcy stopped, her mouth hanging open mid-word, and looked up at him. She was a whole head shorter than him.

       “What’s up?”

       “I need to tell you something, in case…”

       “You go berserker on me?”

       “Yeah,” Bucky pushed his hair from his eyes, scooping it behind his ears. Steve kept asking him if he wanted to cut it, but Bucky wasn’t sure. Altering his appearance too much, looking too much like the Bucky that existed before, seemed like a bad idea at present.

       Bucky took Darcy’s hand and pulled her toward the living room, setting her down on the sofa. He perched on the coffee table in front of her.

       “Why do I feel like we’re already about to have a ‘we-need-to-talk’ talk?”

       Bucky shook his head. “It’s nothing like that,” he replied. “But if we’re going to be friends, there’s just one more thing.”

       Darcy eyed him skeptically. “Okay…what’s the one more thing to add to the list of the five billion other things we aren’t allowed to do as friends?”

       “To keep me in control, my Russian handlers developed a phrase that would…knock me out…in case I tried to attack them.”

       Darcy nodded. “Smart.”

       “I want to teach it to you.”

       It took Darcy a few seconds to catch up with what that meant. Her eyes widened.

       “Oh,” was all she could come up with to say.

       “If I ever lose it around you, don’t hesitate. Just speak the words and then run.”

       “How long does it knock you out for?”

       Bucky shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

       “Does Steve know the words?”

       His gaze was soft and sad as he shook his head.

       Whoa.

       Darcy let it sink in. He hadn’t told Steve the magic knock-out phrase. Bucky was trusting her with it, though. He was giving her power over him, the power that others used to control him. He was handing her the whip those Hydra assholes used to beat back the beast they unleashed but couldn’t tame.

       “I promise not to use it to, like, make you fall asleep in the middle of dinner or training or for the purposes of pranking.”

       He cracked a smile. “I appreciate that.”

       “Okay, what’s the phrase?”

       “It’s in Russian,” he told her. “Remember, if you ever say it, run as soon as I drop. Get Steve or Natasha or whoever is around, just in case I—“

       “Don’t wake up happy?” She offered.

       “Yeah.”

       “Wait,” she said. “If you say it, will you pass out?”

       “I’ll do it in pieces. It’s two parts. Repeat it after me,” Darcy nodded and he spoke. “Бог дал…”

       “ _Bog dal_ ,” she repeated, her American accent harsh on the words.

       “Бог и взял…”

       “ _Bog i vzyal_.”

       Bucky nodded. “Good.”

       They repeated it in halves twice more, until Bucky was satisfied her pronunciation was up to par.

       “All right, say it in full.”

       “What?” She exclaimed.

       “Gotta make sure it works, doll.”

       Darcy scoffed at how casual he was being about the whole thing. Knocking him out with the magic sleep phrase in theory seemed okay, in practice, it actually made her a little nervous.

“What if it totally shuts your brain off and you don’t wake up?”

“I always wake up.”

“But what if this is the one time you don’t--”

“I’ll be fine.”

“But what if--”

       “You can’t be afraid to pull the trigger when the time comes,” he challenged.

       “That’s different.”

       “I trust you not to take advantage of me.”

He smirked. He actually smirked at her. She wasn’t sure which part of the sentence to focus on. Whether the out loud admission that he trusted her, or the fact that it sounded a lot like flirting. Darcy stomped down on the fact that the site of his scruffy smirk made her stomach do a weird flip-flop thing.

       She shook her head, reasoning out the flirting. Bucky Barnes—according to a few documentaries she’d watched on the Howling Commandos—had been somewhat of a charmer back in the day. It was probably an old, old, old slip of habit.

       “Ready?” he nudged.

       “Well, lay down or something first. I don’t want you to pass out on my hard as hell coffee table.”

       Darcy moved off the sofa and Bucky switched places with her, settling back against the plush gray cushions.

       “Okay,” she licked her lips, standing over him and repeated the words.

.

.

.

.

.

 

       One hour. That was how long Bucky was knocked out on the couch. It was a little unnerving. Darcy stared at him for a while, unsure that he was even alive, the only indication being the rise and fall of his chest. She covered him in a green afghan and grabbed her laptop to catch up on work while he snoozed.

       His breath caught in a short, sharp gasp and his eyes broke open. Darcy was already repeating the words in her mind, ready to say them in case he was in a mood.

       An instant later, a typical expression of sleepiness took over his features and she relaxed. Bucky scrubbed a hand over his face and blinked a few times.

       “Sweet dreams?” she asked and let him know the official amount of time he had been sleeping. “The lord giveth and the lord taketh away.” Bucky shot her a confused look. “I Googled the translation while you were napping. That’s what the words mean.”

       “Yeah,” Bucky replied. It wasn’t news to him, but he’d never given them much thought.

       “What the hell does that mean?”

       He shrugged. “Their idea of a joke I guess.”

       Darcy rolled her eyes. “They need to learn a thing or two about comedy,” she scoffed. “Assholes.”

.

.

.

.

.

       Steve felt proud of Bucky after Berkeley. Not that he didn’t think his friend had it in him. The old Bucky would have thrown himself into danger for two women who were little more than strangers, if it meant protecting them. He honestly wasn’t so sure about the Bucky that existed now, the one heavily influenced by Hydra, the one who had spent the better part of a century as a cold, blooded killer with little regard to collateral damage.

       He’d witnessed the way Bucky ran into the fiery lab without fear. He’d noticed the care he’d taken to see that Darcy Lewis was alive and okay and the way he’d hovered over her and cared for her before they’d arrived at medical.

       Steve hadn’t seen that kind of passion and conviction in Bucky since they’d been reunited. Bucky always seemed passive in his day-to-day existence. Sam insisted--and they all knew--that for Bucky, recovery would be one day at a time. But seeing Bucky passionate about protecting someone gave Steve hope. He knew Bucky would thrive as an Avenger.

       It was time for him to meet the rest of the team.

.

.

.

.

       “I was thinking…” Darcy trailed off, looking up at Bucky who sat across the table from her. He’d come down to the lab that evening. The lights were dimmed and most of the other scientists were gone for the evening, except herself and her crazy-focused boss.

Jane was running an experiment, Darcy wanted to be absolutely sure that the woman ate and slept at regular intervals over the next seventy-two hours, which meant she was pretty much camped out as well.

       Bucky took the time to do some prep work for the mission he had with Hawkeye aka Agent Clint Barton. Ever since Steve introduced him to the rest of the team, Bucky had spent most of his time doing recon with Barton. The man reminded him of Darcy in a lot of ways: same humor, same eye roll expression when exasperated, same ability to make him unwittingly crack a smile.

       He looked up at Darcy, her hair pulled back into a messy bun, glasses perched on her face, lab coat hanging off her shoulders. She was blinking a lot and yawned twice in the past five minutes. She’d need coffee soon if she was going to make it until two a.m., which was the aforementioned end time of the first phase of Dr. Foster’s experiment.

       “You were thinking…” he prompted, moving off his chrome lab stool and toward the small lounge area between the labs.

       “I was thinking about that Professor,” she said, loud enough so he could hear her in the other room, “from Berkley. Dr. Hodges.”

       “Why are you thinking about him?” Bucky called back to her. She could hear cabinets opening and closing in the lounge.

       “I was reading some of the reports that came out after the bombing. You know, all about how he’s a religious nut job and was motivated by the lord’s work or whatever for doing what he did…” She clicked over to a few bookmarks on her laptop, refreshing her memory on the supposed facts collected by CNN, Huffington Post, and an article on Buzzfeed. “I don’t think he was what they say he is.”

       “What do you mean?”

       “I found this random comment on a Buzzfeed article—I know it’s dangerous going into comment sections, but I couldn’t help myself—but I saw this girl write basically a whole novel about how the media is slandering his name and how he was always a nice and intelligent and tolerant professor.” Bucky reappeared then, walking out of the lounge with a steaming, blue mug in his hand. He set the cup in front of Darcy and she paused to smile up at him upon seeing the much needed caffeine. “Thank you.”

       “You’re welcome.” He grinned down at her and then focused his attention on her screen. “So the comment…”

       “Yeah,” Darcy said pulling it back up and letting him read over her shoulder. “I emailed this girl—“

       “You what?”

       “Calm down, she’s undergrad student, not a secret spy.”

       “Everyone is something else, until you figure out what they really are.”

       Darcy shot him a wry look. “Be sure to repeat that philosophy to your therapist during your next session.” Bucky scowled and Darcy poked him in the side and continued. “I emailed her and asked more about what she said. She told me that the “religion problems” he had with Berkley administration were because he altered an assignment to fit the religious beliefs of one of his students. The others in the class thought it was unfair that he received special treatment and an “easier assignment” and the board that heard the case to agreed. So he was reprimanded for trying to help a kid out.”

       Darcy paused to click away at a few windows and pull up a new one. It was an old article from the Berkeley Gazette. “See? This article backs up her story.”

       Bucky wasn’t convinced. “You’re telling me that he was standing up for this kid? But it’s not standing up for much when it’s a kid who shares his convictions. All this tells me is that he started small and worked up to something much bigger.”

       Her ribs were healed and the cuts had faded. The scar on her cheek was no longer visible, but Bucky could still pinpoint the exact slash he’d seen when he’d pulled her unconscious body from the rubble. It was a sight he never cared to see again. And he certainly didn’t see the point in vindicating the man responsible.

       “Yes, however,” she clicked over and pulled up a new web page. It was a picture of Edwin Hodges, probably twenty years younger, standing outside of a new building. “This is Dr. Hodges standing outside of the Berkeley Islamic Center, with its board of trustees. Everyone, the media included, assumed that because he’s white he was a Catholic. But he’s Muslim. The student he defended was Lutheran.”

       Bucky’s eyes scanned the article. It cited that Hodges was a part of the board of the new mosque. “What about the journals?”

       “That’s another thing, I don’t think those journals belonged to him.”

       “They were found in his office.”

       “That doesn’t mean shit! Someone could have planted them there. Why would he quote the Bible in his writings if he was a devout Muslim?”

       Bucky ran a hand through his long hair. “Maybe he changed teams?”

       “I ran a search, he’s still listed as an active member of the mosque, I even emailed a couple of his grad students and learned that he has a copy of the Quran in his office. They even said he would break to his office during his lectures if it was time for prayer.”

       “Then why haven’t any of his fellow church members come forward?”

       “Please,” she rolled her eyes. “In the post 9-11 world, the conservative media’s favorite game is to pin any terror attack they can on Muslims. I don’t blame them for not coming forward and correcting the assumptions.”

       “But what about—“

       “Bucky!” Darcy jumped off her lab stool and shouted. “Chill with the questioning okay? I’m saying that yes, this guy did something really bad and shitty but maybe not for the reasons we think. And if that’s possible, then it’s possible that attacking Jane is a little bit bigger than a random dude being a super hater, and if that’s possible then it’s possible that if whoever is actually behind this is still at large, then this might not be the last time they try to take her out. They’ll learn from their mistake on the first attempt and not be so sloppy in the next one.”

       Darcy’s eyes were wild, her full lips pursed, willing him to take her seriously. “Okay, you have a fair point.”

       “Thank you.”

       “Barton and I leave for California in the morning. I’ll make a stop by Berkley and check it out.”

       “Awesome!” She said leaning back to her computer. “I’ll text you his home address and his office information.”

       Bucky narrowed his gaze. “How do you have that information?”

       “Natasha taught me a few tricks on assembling information,” she said, leaning back against the table and facing him with a proud smirk. “And you wouldn’t believe the things I can get into using Tony’s network. It’s untraceable. They never see me coming.” She grabbed the mug of coffee and took a sip. “This is perfect by the way, thanks. For coffee and for following my lead.”

       Bucky chuckled. “Anything for you doll.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it's not painfully obvious, I don't speak Russian. I looked up some phrases and used the Russian Spelling/Phonetic English spelling for the dual pronunciations of the words. Congrats to anyone who can maybe guess why those are the words Hydra picked to control The Winter Solider ;) btw, the idea of Bucky having words to knock him out was inspired by one of my other favorite fandoms...Firefly.
> 
> Also, I hope I don't offend anyone's religious beliefs inadvertently. I have a great respect for all religions. I read somewhere once that the teachings of the Quran are a little bit more tolerant of scientific thinking, than the Bible, so I chose to make the Professor a muslim. I also want to mention that I'm not trying to villainize any religion...there is something larger going on with the attack and it's being used as an unfortunate scapegoat.
> 
> Which brings me to my next point...I guess this is becoming a full fic now...sort of haha. I once read that the first draft of something is basically telling yourself the story and I guess that's what I'm doing. Thanks for reading along while I play with this wonderful OTP. 
> 
> Thank you for all the kudos and comments!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr at hybridlovelies


	7. Part VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the wait on this chapter! It's been my longest between updates, I know. Halloween week got busy for me and my friend/beta was visiting so neither of us had time to work on it. 
> 
> Thank you to Ashley (jomosfamilyjewels) for beta work. 
> 
> Also special thank you/shout out to reader hafizatulsufiahyaacob who helped me out with some information on Islam. I'm sure I still got things wrong and you were kind to answer my questions! Thanks!
> 
> A few more random notes at the end...but enjoy the chapter!

Clint busied himself with pre flight checks while Bucky double-checked the arms he was bringing on board for the thousandth time. Travelling by commercial airline wasn’t an option. He technically wasn’t an American citizen because he technically wasn’t even a living person.  James Buchanan Barnes died in action during World War II. The man that existed now didn’t belong to any country.

Besides not having a valid ID or passport, the small armory that he’d packed for the short trip wasn’t exactly something the TSA would allow anyways.

He had his SIG on him at all times, along with his Gerber blade concealed and ready to pull at a moment’s notice. The Intratec and his thigh holsters were stashed for the moment. His Skorpion was packed away, too.

Darcy had stopped by that morning to pass along some last minute information and raised an eyebrow at the variety of weapons laid out on the coffee table, waiting to be packed.

“Dude, the machine gun might be a little much, don’t you think?”

Bucky didn’t think that at all. The more he took into account Darcy’s theory about the attack being something more, the more his guard went up.

“Wheels up in ten,” Clint reported as Bucky checked his ammunition. The agent paused in front of him on his way from the cockpit and examined the artillery. “Dude, the machine gun may be a little overkill.”

There wasn’t judgement in the statement, it was simply a joke. He leaned an elbow against the side of the plane. Barton had an easiness that Bucky envied. Even in that easiness, there was tension, not obvious to the naked eye perhaps, but little tics that someone like Bucky--trained to note body language--could observe.

Hawkeye, true to his name and reputation, remained on constant alert. Bucky thought that perhaps the feigned casualness was another aspect that made him so deadly to enemies. It would be easy to underestimate Clint Barton. He was on the shorter side, lean, not muscular like other members of the Avengers team, nor did he possess and special superpowers that the rest of them boasted.

“Where is the rendezvous?” Bucky asked.

“We’ll have to hang around for a while, try to stay incognito as possible,” Barton paused to give him a once over that said he doubted Bucky’s inability to look inconspicuous. “Once I see the dead drop, we’ll hang around a bit longer, pick it up then head out.”

Bucky nodded. During the briefing, he’d learned that Barton had picked up an anonymous contact who fed him information from an underground network from time to time. The contact was referred to as The Samaritan. Steve explained that the rest of the agency still wasn’t sure who the contact was or why they chose to risk their life to feed them info, but Barton trusted whoever it was, and the information proved to be useful time and time again.

“You don’t know anything about this guy?”

Barton smirked, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement. “Don’t be sexist, Barnes. For all you know it could be a woman.”

He ignored the jab, standing and follow Barton as he walked toward the cockpit to ready for takeoff. “You don’t know?”

“I know that I trust The Samaritan with my life,” Clint replied, taking his seat in the pilot chair. Bucky dropped into the seat beside him, tugging out the belts, and strapping himself in. Clint flipped a few switches and relayed with Jarvis to clear for takeoff. “I was given an assignment almost a decade ago: an assassin that needed to be taken out. I was sent to Moscow to hunt down a woman named Tatiana Sokolova.”

“Didn’t take you for an assassin,” Bucky admitted.

Barton gave him a sidelong glance that could have chilled lesser men. “I do what needs to be done.”

“So, what do The Samaritan and Tatiana Sokolova have to do with one another?”

“Sokolova was a KGB assassin, one of the best. Second only to one another if you believe in the legend of The Winter Soldier,” Barton chuckled. He seemed to think that was funny. “Fury sent me in with half the story. Not his fault, he only knew half the story. The Samaritan dug up the other half. When I met Sokolova in Moscow, her gun pointed at me from across the room, my arrow aimed at her face…I made a different call.”

Their bodies shifted in the seats as the jet lifted into the air, soft suctioning and whirring sounds coming from the wheel gear below their feet. Jarvis gave Barton the clear and they zoomed off into the clouds above New York.

“You didn’t complete the mission?”

“Fury was pissed as hell, told me to stop bringing home strays,” Barton continued. “But he got over it.”

Bucky frowned, still confused by the story. It was obvious to him that the name was an alias Barton’s target had used. Bucky’s handlers had never given him names. His targets had faces, not names. Names meant something. A name meant that it was a person his was killing, not a thing or idea or obstacle. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been scowling at the open air out the window when he heard his phone chime. He reached into his jacket pocket and saw a text from Darcy.

Be safe ;)

“How close are we touching down to Berkeley?” Bucky asked, thankful to get his mind away from the dark trail it had begun to follow.

“Close as you want, if we need to change plans.”

“Won’t that affect the drop?”

Barton shook his head. “Nah, it’s a different kind of drop. What’s in Berkeley?”

“A lead I need to check out.”

“About the attack on Foster?” Bucky nodded and Clint flipped a switch, nodding right back. “Reason enough for me. Berkeley it is.”

.

.

.

.

After sending a quick text to Bucky, Darcy turned the music in her headphones up, and focused her attention to her laptop. When she was a teenager, her mother used to tell her to “be safe” no matter where she went. Whether it was to school or the mall or her friend’s house, her mother would hug her goodbye and wish safety upon her. Darcy always wondered why her mom always did that. What could have happened on a trip to the grocery store that she needed to look out for?

Maybe it was some deep-rooted maternal instinct that knew that one day her only daughter would be living and working for a bunch of superheroes that had her wishing well for her daughter every time she stepped foot out the door. Maybe her mom was stockpiling safety on to her daughter for the moment she would need it.

Darcy made a mental note to call her mother for a catch up soon. Her head bobbed to the beat, her fingers typing, blissfully unaware that she was no longer alone in the lab.

Heels clacked on the linoleum behind her, but she completely missed the sound as she took a sip of her coffee, and her song reached the really good part that had her singing along, fantasizing for just a moment about being a badass rock star like Hayley Williams.

The presence stopped just behind her reading down the brainstorming list that Darcy’s was currently working on, instead of continuing to research cosmic events cited in the Peotic Edda.

“Why are you writing a ‘Reasons to Kill Jane’ list?”

Darcy yelped and whirled around, nearly spilling coffee all over the steel table. As soon as she saw Jane, she wanted to smack her.

“Damn! It is way too early in the morning to be giving me a coronary!” Darcy said, hand to her chest. Her heart was beating a million times a minute.

“Why are you making a ‘Kill Jane’ list?”

“Why are you wearing heels?” Darcy turned her eyes toward the floor and the black stilettos covering her boss’ feet.

“Stop changing the subject.”

“Seriously, you never wear heels,” she hopped off the stool, and moved her hand between them, comparing their heights. “No fair you have a whole two inches on me now!”

“Darcy…” Jane crossed her arms and tapped her heeled toe, tilting her head toward the computer screen.

Darcy sighed. “It’s not a ‘Kill Jane’ list, it’s a ‘Reasons to Kill Jane’ list.”

“Is working for me that bad that you’re contemplating murder now?”

“It’s not for me, it’s for whoever was making a threat on your life,” Darcy explained, filling Jane in on her theory that the attack at Berkley might have been a little more complicated than religious protest.

Jane nodded, reading over the list. This was one of the things that Darcy loved about Jane. She never doubted or discarded any theory, no matter how crazy, until there was evidence to prove otherwise. It was sort of a reverse Occam’s Razor. Jane’s Pillow, it could be called. No, that didn’t sound very good. What was the opposite of a razor?

“I don’t think ‘eating all the pop-tarts’ would be on a bad guy list of reasons to kill me.”

Darcy scoffed. “It would be on my list.”

Jane rolled her eyes and headed to her office, leaving Darcy to concentrate on her list and researching theories.

She kept coming back to Jane’s work.

Darcy was a firm believer that in every lie, there was an ounce of truth. Out of everything, the idea that someone would want to attack Jane based on her work, seemed valid.

She shut her eyes and concentrated on recreating the memory of the lab at Berkeley in her mind. The event was foggy, at best. She remembered Dr. Hodges strategically placing Jane in the room, always putting himself between her and where the blast originated. His billion apologies. The professor was a reluctant assassin.

She opened her eyes and let out a frustrated sigh, her head sinking into her hands.

These were all things she knew already. There wasn’t any new information to be formed. Even Bucky told her the same thing when she stopped by his apartment that morning to discuss their mystery.

“Doll, you’re just talking yourself more into this theory at this point,” he said, looking her in the eye. He had such honest eyes. With eyes like that she sometimes wondered how he ever became the world’s most infamous assassin. “Relax. Let’s wait until we know what’s to be found in California.”

Darcy wasn’t great at waiting. She glanced at the clock. The quinjet left an hour ago. Bucky wouldn’t land for another three and then she had no idea how long it would be until he’d be able to break away from his actual assignment and chase her lead.

A minute ticked over on the clock.

“Waiting sucks,” she said out loud to no one at all, then she remembered, “Jane! You never told me why you’re wearing heels!”

.

.

.

.

.

Convenience was on Bucky’s side. Barton landed the jet in a remote space a half hour from their rendezvous, which was twenty minutes from Berkeley. They rode a couple of motorcycles into the city. Both men changed into civilian clothes, Bucky in a long sleeve shirt and leather jacket, ball cap tipped over his face. His metal hand concealed by leather gloves.

To any outsider, they looked like nothing more than a pair of friends, out for a ride on their bikes and enjoying the Autumn weather.

Clint led him to a diner and said they’d be waiting there until it was time for the drop. A waitress in a blue dress sat them at a booth. Barton ordered a coffee and a stack of pancakes. Bucky glanced at the time. It was still morning for the west coast, but back east it was nearly lunch.

“How long until the drop?” Bucky inquired.

Barton shrugged. “The time changes all the time. I’ll know it when I see it.”

None of Barton’s methods made any damn sense to him. He shifted against the vinyl.

“If you’re anxious, you should go check out that lead you mentioned,” Barton suggested.

That was a surprise. It was the first time anyone suggested Bucky go anywhere alone.

“You tryin’ to get rid of me?”

“Yeah, I am,” Barton admitted. “I know Rogers wants you out and about to see how you do, but I usually go on these drops alone. I like to play this close to the vest, ya see?”

“Sure,” Bucky replied with a nod. “I’ll head out, be back in a couple of hours.”

“Sounds good,” Clint replied, dumping a ton of sugar into his black coffee and stirring it around.

Bucky was good at being invisible, even when it was midmorning, on a cloudless day. Getting into the professor’s office wasn’t difficult. Most of the students lingering around campus didn’t pay him much attention or avoided even looking at him.

He heard Darcy’s voice in his head.

The hobo look probably helps.

Inside the office, he clicked on the tiny com in his ear and dialed his favorite, snarky girl.

“It’s about time,” Darcy answered after the first ring. “I’m dying of boredom. Are you in?”

“I’m in,” he replied, looking over Hodges’ office.

It was small and cramped, on the opposite side of campus where he had blown up the lab. The walls were lined with shelves and books, there was a metal filing cabinet in the window. Of course he had a small desk sandwiched in the middle of everything, computer, note papers, pens. A star chart hung on the wall to his right, next to a coat rack.

Bucky moved like a cat, slipping through the tiny space, eyes scanning for anything that sent up a red flag.

“How was the flight? Did Clint talk your ear off about the finer intricacies of archaic weapons?”

“As much as I love to chat with you, doll, this is more of a silent operation.”

“Right, right. Totally professional,” she whispered over the line and Bucky’s lip twitched. “Check your email, I sent you a list of things to look for.”

He slipped his phone from his pocket and thumbed the screen. Bucky could admit he was a little out of his element. Detective work wasn’t his strong suit. His espionage training had been relegated to finding people to kill them, not solving mysteries.

“I did some research and made a list of stuff to be on the lookout for.”

Bucky reading through the list, realizing it was a collection of objects typical to the professor’s religion. There was a prayer mat in the corner of the room. Bucky recalled the student Darcy had emailed with mentioning the professor breaking class for prayer times.

Bucky checked the list again. On the desk was a string of green beads, that he took for the prayer beads on her list.

Along the walls were shelves lined with books.  Bucky spotted a copy of the Quran, as well as other books that referenced scientific teachings and Islam. He dragged his eyes along the titles. There was a book on Tajwid and some related to Fiqh. There were also many western titles, textbooks, and a few fiction titles. They all seemed like typical books any scientist might own and want close by for reference.

“Did Doctor Foster ever publish any books?”

“Jane? No. But she didn’t actually start getting any respect from fellow eggheads until a couple of years ago.”

Bucky nodded coming to the last book. “I’m ticking off a lot of thing things on your list, but it doesn’t prove a whole lot, except that he’s definitely not Catholic.”

Darcy cursed and Bucky envisioned her scrunching her face in frustration. He heard microwave buttons beep on her end of the line. “Maybe there’s something in his desk. A hidden flash drive or something with a secret message on it.”

“I think you’ve been watchin’ too many films.”

“It’s worth a shot.”

Bucky looked over at the desk. It was fairly organized, a few reminder post-its hanging around, a desk calendar marking important dates to remember. Doctor Foster’s lecture was noted and nothing after that, which was suspicious no matter which way the story went.

He yanked open a desk drawer and found a small voice recorder. He clicked it on and listened to the professor mumble equations. He fast-forwarded and heard more notes, this time for a personal lecture.

His eyes fell on the laptop, sitting forgotten on the desk.

“Find anything?”

“Maybe,” Bucky muttered. He unshouldered the backpack he’d brought and packed the laptop inside, along with the voice recorded and the most recent tapes.

“You don’t want to tell me what it is?”

Bucky’s mouth twitched. “I’ll let you be surprised.”

She groaned and he bit down a laugh, letting the conversation end.

He made his way down the hallway, walking along with other students, pulling his cap down to hide his face without being obvious.

“Hey.”

The voice was addressing him. He turned and saw a young guy staring back at him. He instantly recognized the student as the barista who Darcy had chided him for intimidating. The kid still wore black, but traded an apron for a beat up looking backpack covered in boy scout looking patches.

The boy’s eyes flicked up to the cap on Bucky’s head. “Dodgers fan? Me too. I used to chat baseball after class with Professor Hodges a couple semesters ago.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed at the referenced name. He looked left and right, noticing the hallway beginning to empty. No witnesses, no one paying attention.

Bucky snatched the boy’s arm and dragged him into the restroom just next to them.

The boy’s fear spiked, Bucky could feel it as he tossed him against the wall and held him there with a glare. “Who are you?”

“I’m a barista,” the kid said. “M-my name is Evan. I just remembered you being with those women that were attacked.”

The kid didn’t look like an agent. He wasn’t armed, that was obvious. He was thin a rail, too. No muscle.

“What do you want?”

“There were men here two days later. In suits. I remembered them from before, they got coffee from me.”

“How did you remember them?” Bucky squeezed his metal fingers into the boy’s bicep, causing him to wince in pain.

“I’m a fiction writing major, ow!” He squirmed under Bucky’s forceful grip. “I’m writing a spy novel, I watched the two of them for inspiration. They were here before and after the bombing--Jesus, let up man!”

Bucky didn’t give an inch, still suspicious of too much coincidence. Still he didn’t have much of a choice but to consider the story as possibly true. If it was true, it was possibly another piece to the puzzle that Darcy was attempting to construct.

Bucky let the boy barista named Evan go with a rough shove into the tile. He gripped his arm, rubbing at the pain.

“Get out of here,” Bucky ordered.

Evan didn’t need to be told twice, the regret at approaching Bucky obvious in his hasty retreat. The door swung open and closed and he disappeared, leaving Bucky alone in what turned out to be the ladies’ toilets.

.

.

.

.

By the time Bucky made it back to Clint, the drop had been picked up, which left him still curious about The Samaritan.

“Find what you need?” Barton asked him when he got back to the booth.

“We’ll see.”

Barton picked up the check, winked at their waitress, and they headed out back to the jet.

.

.

.

.

The sun was disappearing into the Manhattan sky as Steve walked onto the landing platform to meet the quinjet. Barton had commed him an hour out, telling him that they needed to see one another right away.

He was worried at first, thinking something had gone wrong with Bucky, that he’d gone off or been spotted. Clint reassured him Bucky was fine, but the news from the Samaritan wasn’t something they wanted to sit on, even for a moment.

He knew he needed to relax and stop worrying so much about his friend. He was like a mother hen and he knew that it was annoying the hell out of Bucky. But Steve couldn’t help himself. He hoped for the best. He wanted to be fighting next to his best friend again. He wanted him to be a part of taking Hydra down for good. Bucky deserved that after all the hell he’d been through because of them.

Steve knew he was doing better mentally. The first weeks had been tough. He’d almost slipped away again, out of nowhere, and Steve was left reeling as to what had happened to cause such an abrupt spiral. That was the week Bucky almost ran again. He’d muttered things about being dangerous, a ticking time bomb, unworthy of trust. But then something clicked and he started getting help.

The crawl to health happened steadily, but the past few weeks had shown him to be more like his old self. Whatever breakthrough had happened for Bucky, Steve was thankful. There was still darkness surrounding him but Steve caught little glimpses of light, if he was paying attention.

“Here for the landing party?”

Natasha appeared beside him, her red hair like fire in the sunset light, the wind from the jet fanning it out into soft flames licking out around her leather clad shoulders.

He mentally cursed that Romanoff was there to hear the news along with him. He trusted her, but she still had her secrets. He’d have preferred to debrief her with the others later, but he should have known better. There weren’t any secrets between Hawkeye and Black Widow. Steve was willing to bet that Barton contacted Natasha before he’d even spoken to him.

“Any idea what Barton found?” Steve asked.

“Not a clue,” she replied. Steve noticed the tension in her stance and the pronounced crease across her brow.

Clint had news and it wasn’t going to be good.

The rear door of the quinjet dropped as soon as the wheels locked and Bucky stomped down the gangway in his black boots. Steve tried to appear at ease, giving Bucky a nod.

“How was California?”

“Not so bad,” Bucky answered, looking from him to Natasha and back again. “Everything okay?”

“Just wanted to make sure you didn’t murder Barton,” Natasha smirked and breezed past them into the plane.

Steve gritted his teeth. “I wish she wouldn’t say things like that.”

“It’s a valid concern,” Bucky added, shifted the bag on his shoulder. Steve did a double take at the unexpected sarcasm from his usually taciturn best friend. Bucky ignored it. “Debrief later? I’ve got something to take care of.”

“Yeah, I’ll catch up later.”

Bucky walked off and Steve turned to join Natasha and Clint inside the jet.

Clint was still in the pilot seat, Natasha leaning back against the controls, facing him with her arms crossed. They were doing that silent conversation thing that they always do.

“Evening, Cap,” Clint greeted, spinning the chair to face him.

“Report?”

“That’s the problem,” Clint said. “Samaritan didn’t have anything new for me this time around.”

“So why’d he call you out just to tell you nothing?” Steve asked.

“Because by telling me nothing, Samaritan told me something.”

Steve’s gaze flicked up to Natasha. She rolled her eyes and shook her head at Hawkeye’s antics.

“He didn’t have anything? He just wasted our time?”

Barton shook his head. “Nope. The Samaritan didn’t have anything because there wasn’t anything to be found. Hydra has gone silent. Dead as a doornail silent.”

“You think they found out about our contact?”

“If they found out they would either be using it against us or the Samaritan would be dead,” said Natasha.

It was true enough. If Hydra knew about The Samaritan, they could certainly use it to their advantage, to plant bad information or maybe see what information they could glean for themselves.

“How do we know he isn’t already dead? How can you be sure it was the actual Samaritan you were talking to?”

Clint dipped his chin to his chest, fixing Steve with the most serious look he’d ever seen from the man. “Trust me, if I wasn’t communicating with the real Samaritan, I would know.”

The look--not the words--made Steve believe him.

“They’ve gone silent, that doesn’t mean they’re down for the count.”

“No,” Natasha agreed. “It means it’s the calm before the storm.”

Steve took a deep breath, letting that sink in. He didn’t know what to expect from Hydra. As promised, they kept coming and coming. Cut off one head and another grows. He was getting to the point where he didn’t know if he would ever stop them. Not that he wouldn’t die trying.

“There is one more thing,” Clint said, standing and pulling something from his back pocket. It was a thumb drive. “The Samaritan didn’t have anything new but there was something old. For your eyes only.”

He pressed it into Steve’s palm.

“What’s this?”

“Everything you never wanted to know about The Winter Soldier.”

.

.

.

.

“I need a code name for next time,” Darcy complained. “All the cool kid spies have a code name.”

Bucky lifted a brow in her direction, while he unpacked the guns from his bag. “You’re a spy now?”

“Maybe? Agent Lewis could have a nice ring to it? It sounds better than ‘intern’ or ‘assistant’ or ‘six credits short of graduating with a degree,’” Darcy shrugged. “It would be more impressive for my parents to talk about at parties.” Darcy put a hand to her chest, affecting what Bucky assumed were mannerisms typical of her mother. “‘Oh, our Darcy? She’s a secret agent.’”

Bucky clicked his teeth. “Sorry to say, doll. But the problem with that plan is the secret part.”

“Doll! That could be my code name!”

Darcy smiled to herself, continuing to type into the unfamiliar laptop in front of her.

She didn’t expect Bucky to steal an entire laptop when he scoped out Professor Hodges’ office, but she worked with what he gave her. Which wasn’t turning out to be much. The school issued computer was clean of anything incriminating, although his personal search history and bookmarks added to the fact that he definitely wasn’t a religious zealot.

Bucky finished his weapons check and slid into the bar stool beside her. His kitchen counter was covered in take away Chinese boxes, neither of them feeling up for cooking. Darcy pushed at her glasses and sighed.

“There was one other thing,” Bucky told her.

“What?”

“That barista we spoke to at Berkeley--”

“The one you were trying to kill with your death glare?”

“He saw me and stopped me in the hall,” Bucky said, explained their brief encounter. He questioned whether or not to tell her that detail, knowing exactly how she would react and still unsure about the meaning of the information himself.

“Who do you think the men were?”

“C.I.A. or S.H.E.I.L.D agents?”

Darcy shook her head. “But if they were there before and after, they were probably connected to the people that did it.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying it’s possible that Professor Hodges’ was somehow blackmailed into trying to blow up Jane,” Darcy said. “And I know what you’re thinking, that I’m too trusting for believing this rando guy’s information--” Bucky ducked his head and smirked because that was exactly what he’d been thinking. “But even if the barista is actually some enemy secret agent, wouldn’t it be weird to have him planted there to throw you off in the first place? It’s not like they would know you were coming.”

Bucky had to admit she had a point. It suddenly seemed odd to him that the agency hadn’t been all over investigating the attack. Or maybe they were and no one was aware. He’d have to ask Steve.

“Why can’t secret files be labeled on the desktop?” Darcy complained.

Bucky let out a small snicker beside her, his arm brushing hers. “Again, that would defeat the secret part.”

Darcy dropped her head into her hand and glanced over at him from behind her frames. “Maybe there’s something hidden that I can’t access?”

“Not really my area of expertise,” Bucky admitted. “Ask Romanoff.”

“Yeah…” Darcy sighed again. She looked at the tapes and records spread over the counter, trailing her fingers along each plastic case. “I guess I have a lot of listening to do.”

“Not your area of expertise,” Bucky quipped. Darcy scoffed and punched him in his metal arm. “Do you really think you’ll find something?”

Darcy didn’t know. Maybe she was on a wild goose chase. Maybe she was making connections that weren’t there. Erik had taught her about apophenia once—in her early intern days. It was the tendency to discern meaningful connections from random data.

“Maybe I’m crazy. I just can’t shake the feeling…” she turned her head toward him again. “Do you think I’m crazy?”

He smirked. “You’re asking me?”

That cheeky little tilt of his lips was going to be the death of her. It was amazing how often it was making an appearance these days, taunting her, combined with the dust of scruff on his jaw, and the way his long hair would brush his cheeks. Darcy didn’t know what she would do if she ever witnessed a full on, mega watt, Bucky Barnes smile. She wasn’t ready for that.

These were very bad thoughts to be having, thoughts that weren’t going to lead to anything good. Ogling Thor or crushing on random agents were one thing…but this was Bucky. Subjectively, she could appreciate the danger-man hotness that encompassed James Buchanan Barnes, but objectively she could never, never let it go beyond that.

She was crushing.

Bad.

It was problematic. And would only lead to a world of disappointment if she didn’t get a hold of herself and her feelings.

Fortunately, Bucky’s phone went off, interrupting her internal moral debate.

“Steve,” Bucky said, reading his phone. “Gotta debrief.” He reached over and closed the laptop and pulled it away from her. She made a noise of protest. “I’ll take this to Romanoff and ask about hacking some data. You concentrate on those tapes. Don’t eat all the chow mein before I get back.”

“That was one time!” Darcy protested as Bucky slipped out his front door.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -So the canon compliancy is a little wonky in this fic. It's post TWS, but the fall of SHEILD hasn't happened the way it did there. Spoiler alert, I'll probably be working some version of it into this fic.  
> -Darcy and Jane are working on things in regards to Ragnarok. I'll probably keep dropping hints, though that isn't the main focus in this fic. In my head canon, Thor is cagey about it, but Jane suspects, so she's having Darcy do the research to find out what they should prepare for.   
> -I can't help myself from overdeveloping head canons for fics: see above lol  
> -I feel like I had more to say but I can't remember...
> 
> Anyways, best wishes to all of you! I hope you're well. Thanks for reading/commenting. You guys are awesome!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr at hybridlovelies


	8. Part VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to Ashley (jomosfamilyjewels) for betaing. You're a way better speller than I am :)

The gym was dark save for the solitary lamp hanging over his head. Bucky sat surrounded by a circle of light. He sat cross-legged, arms propped on his knees, scowling at shadows on the wall.  Sweat dripped from his hair and chin, soaking through in spots on his gray t-shirt. His stomach and chest contorted with each breath he dragged into his lungs.

Across from him, also encased in the orange glow, was a tiny black object. Something Steve had given him three hours ago.

It was a flash drive.

He tried to run himself to exhaustion and beating the hell out of a few punching before he ended up sitting alone in the darkness. His gaze flicked back to the tiny object every so often.

_It’s everything, all the holes, the things we don’t know. Everything the Winter Soldier has done over the past seventy years._

The Samaritan had dug up information on him, information that no other person in the world knew, except for Hydra itself. Bucky didn’t even know the half of it, having his brain wiped and reprogrammed each and every time he came out of cryo-freeze. There wasn’t much he could remember of his life or his missions, but that type of agony—the cracking thaw of his bones and the avalanche of mental anguish--a man wasn’t likely to forget.

Hydra had controlled even his dreams during cryo-sleep, relaying their information, their dogma to him in his comatose state. When he was allowed to break free from their mind control, he sometimes dreamed. Little glimpses of things he’d seen on the outside, but nothing he could ever hold on long enough to make any sense of. Each dream was lost in a misty haze of snow and blood.

He sometimes dreamed of a small boy, one who couldn’t defend himself, Bucky tried but always failed to save him. The boy was never mad at him whenever he was swallowed up by nightmares. Bucky was never able to chase him very far, before his mind’s eye would go black, and the dreams of the boy turned to pain.

He clenched his metal fist, the steel plates of his fingers grinding against each other. If his hand were still flesh and bone, his joints would have shattered from the pressure.

He’d spent three hours since he left Steve running and punching and trying to exhaust the anger from his body. Trying to make a decision. Trying to quell the anger and hurt and rage because he didn’t know what the fuck he was supposed to do with the information the Samaritan handed over.

Did he open it up to see what was inside? Did he unlock all the secrets of his past that were buried in his mind? Would knowing make a difference to his continued existence in the world?

He growled in frustration and rolled up onto his feet, grabbing the flash drive and barreling toward the door of the gym.

His feet carried him back to his apartment and he threw open the door, his eyes landing on Darcy, curled up on his couch fast asleep.

The blue light from the television flashed across her face and empty white box of Chinese take out sat inches from her grasp on the coffee table. She looked comfortable and peaceful, her mouth slightly agape, cheek shoved against a large pillow.

Bucky slammed the door in frustration, feeling both satisfied and guilty at watching her jump from sleep in fright.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He snapped. “I thought we had a rule.”

Darcy rubbed her eyes and put her glasses back on. “Technically I didn’t break any rules, seeing as how you weren’t here when I fell asleep.” She rubbed her wrist at the corner of her mouth. “What time is it?”

“You need to go,” Bucky said, rounding into the kitchen. Darcy scrambled off the couch and followed, noticing his state of agitation and unwilling to let it go.

“I think I need to stay, something happened, what is it?”

Bucky yanked the refrigerator door open and swiped a bottle of water from the top shelf, gulping it down. Not only was he thirsty, he was in dangerous chance of spilling everything to Darcy. He needed to keep his mouth occupied.

“There’s no point in denying anything. You show up three hours later, obviously you’ve been blowing off steam at the gym, you almost ripped the fridge apart, and you look like you want to murder me for even pushing the matter…I’m not leaving until you start talking.”

Bucky continued to glare at her. “If you recognize the look of murder then why the hell are you still here?”

“Because I know the difference between actual murder stares and murder stares that are just fronts for something else,” Darcy argued, hands on hips and eyes challenging. “You might as well talk. It’s not healthy to keep shit bottled up, haven’t you learn that by now?”

Bucky grinded his teeth together as Darcy stared up at him and waited. She wasn’t going to leave him alone until he gave her something. He opened his metal palm and tossed the flash drive out onto the counter, watching it spin until it settled. He watched Darcy as she stared down at the shit-stirring piece of plastic.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a flash drive,” he answered.

“Duh, I can see that.”

“Do you want me to tell you what’s going on or are you gonna keep makin’ smart ass comments?”

Darcy made a show of zipping her lips and invited Bucky to continue. He let out a breath and hoped he wouldn’t regret opening up. “The Samaritan dug up intel….on me…everything about my time as their asset.”

“Oh.” Darcy’s lips formed a perfect round shape. “Like everything from the past seventy years?”

“I’m not sure,” he replied. “Steve didn’t open it. There’s no way I’m opening it.”

“You’re not?”

Bucky finished off the water and crushed the plastic bottle; the crinkling sounds ricocheting inside his brain. “I can’t.”

He hated how hopeless and helpless he sounded.

“I get it,” Darcy admitted, much to his surprise. “Knowledge is scary. There are a whole shit ton of things I know that I didn’t know two years ago and sometimes I wish I didn’t. But…sometimes it’s better to know than to be blindsided. It’s all stored in your brain anyways, right? It could come crashing back out of nowhere like an acid flashback. At least this way you have control over when it happens, right?”

Control. It was everything he’d lacked as the Soldier. It was everything he was trying to regain in his new life. Control over his destiny, his emotions, his actions. Control over his own mind and memories. Darcy had a point, it was a chance to face his sins on his own terms, rather than when his brain and body decided he was ready.

“I have an idea,” she said. “I’ll open it. I’ll see what’s on there and if it’s something too intense, I’ll let you know if maybe you should wait a while.”

Bucky wanted to laugh at the idea, wondering what her bar for ‘too intense’ might be. He guessed it was a lot higher than the average person’s, considering what she’d already dealt with when it came to him. The sincerity in her jade eyes kept his laughter at bay.

The look on her face made him unsure. As much as he’d been trying to get her to really see how dangerous he could be, how dangerous it was to try and be his friend, he was now faced with the real possibility that she would finally know. Whatever was on that flash drive would truly reveal the monster he had been, the monster he was still fully capable of being.

The idea that she would be repulsed, that she would finally give up on him, terrified him to his core.

“Do you trust me?”

Her question made something splinter inside his chest.

“I don’t trust _me_ ,” he choked out. His hand rested inches from the flash drive.

Darcy reached out, sliding her fingers across the marble countertop, and curled her palm around the tiny device.

“I have another idea.” She disappeared from the kitchen, flash drive in hand. Smart girl, he thought. If she’d left it behind Bucky would have snatched it up and pushed her out the door to forget the whole thing.

She reappeared, shoving one of her tape recorders into his hand.

“You’re going to drive yourself crazy if you just sit up here and think about me looking at whatever the hell is on that flash drive. And I’m guessing you’ve already run a whole marathon’s worth—so, unless you plan on getting some sleep…?” Darcy popped the “p” and arched a brow at him. He returned the look with a similar one of his own. “That’s what I thought,” she shoved the recorder into his hand once more. “We trade. You shower—because you’re really sweaty and gross—then keep listening to the professor for me, and I’ll go downstairs and…” She tilted her head back and forth, letting the thought trail off with a shrug. “I’ll come back up when I’m done.”

Bucky gave her a terse nod to let her know he accepted her plan. Though he couldn’t promise that he wasn’t going to drive himself crazy as she mentioned. The recorder was gripped in his hand and Darcy patted it and fixed him with a firm look from beneath her lashes. “Shower. Listen. Sleep if you can. I promise I’ll be back.”

.

.

.

.

When Darcy was five years old, her mother took her to swimming lessons for the first time. She sat on a deck chair by the community pool with the other boys and girls in her beginners group, waiting, and watching the little toddlers swim along with their parents and the lifeguards during their lessons.

Little Darcy, in her yellow swimsuit with pink bows, thought swimming couldn’t be so hard if babies were doing it. She was a big girl and certainly didn’t need extra help to swim like a little baby.

She spotted the diving board at the far end of the pool and watched one of the bigger kids jump from it, cannonballing into the water with a big splash. He emerged with a roar and his friends clapped and cheered, taking their turns doing the same. That looked cool. She wanted to do that.

Darcy slipped over to the deep end unnoticed, climbed up the ladder, and strutted across the diving board without a second’s hesitation. As she leapt and felt the springboard leave the tips of her toes and push her high into the air. In those few precious seconds of weightlessness, she realized that perhaps she’d made a mistake. Flying through the air, arms waving, she knew the water was below her, but she didn’t know what would happen when she landed.

Also, the sudden possibility of sinking to the bottom of the pool was scary.

Sitting on her bed, holding on to Bucky’s flash drive with its metallic end poised just above the USB port of her laptop, sort of felt like that leap off the diving board moment she’d had when she was five. She wasn’t sure if she was ready for what would happen when she landed, but she’d already jumped, and there was no other choice but to ride it out.

She let a long, slow breath. “Okay, let’s do this.”

She plugged the drive into her computer and waited for it to pop up on her desktop. The little drive symbol appeared and she clicked.

       

_ACCESS DENIED_

Okay that made sense. She wasn’t sure why she didn’t think of that beforehand.

“Jarvis?”

“Yes, Miss Lewis? How may I assist you?”

“Any chance you can help me open up these files?”

“I did overhear Captain Rogers relaying the access information to Sergeant Barnes,” the AI replied. “However, it would violate privacy protocols.”

Darcy snorted. “Well, if you were eavesdropping on Steve and Bucky, then you were probably also eavesdropping on me and Bucky ten minutes ago, which means you know that I have his permission to access these files.”

“Fair argument, Miss Lewis.”

“Thank you. So, a little help then?”

Darcy watched Jarvis take momentary control of her laptop and the red light indicating “Access Denied” turned to a green “Access Granted.”

“Thanks, J.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Lewis.”

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting when she opened the file. Truthfully, she imagined tons of pictures and words and videos would flash across her screen; a non-stop matrix style scroll of information that would lodge into her brain faster than the speed of light.

Instead, the information was there for her choosing, it was up to her to overturn the little electronic stones to see what lay underneath. Everything was organized by year: video files, news articles, and photographs. She picked a file with the earliest year and started at the beginning.

The events that unfolded had damn near shaped the modern political scope. Darcy had studied every single assassination, conspiracy, and war as part of her Poli-Sci major. She’d never seen the connection to all of them, but looking at the list of the Winter Soldier’s kills—politicians, scientists, world leaders—she wondered how no one had ever made the connections before. How could this have possibly stayed buried? There must have been some conspiracy theory nut out there on the internet who’d put it all together at some point.

She realized though, that any person who might have put the information together and bothered to voice it was probably dead.

If the kill list wasn’t enough to blow her mind, the experimentation that came next turned her stomach.

Bucky had spent the past few decades being passed around by Hydra and the KGB, put through countless experiments to enhance his strength. He was their personal science project in the early days. He’d been kept prisoner for years before Zola returned to Hydra as a double agent. Bucky had been tortured, experimented on, twisted by Russian soldiers. Trained like a dog. Zola had perfected the metal prosthetic and mind control techniques. The evil little man had been the one to arrange Bucky’s assignments during those early days.

Then there was a file labeled “Stark.”

Darcy opened it and wished she hadn’t. The information and articles indicated that The Winter Soldier had been responsible for the deaths of Tony’s parents. Darcy clicked away before she could see any more.

She’d been at it for almost an hour. Her eyes and brain burning from everything she’d seen, but she kept going, determined to look through every damn bit. If Bucky had to live through all that shit, the least she could do was try to share in some part of it, to make it less lonely. Maybe he had to shoulder it alone before, but not anymore. Not while she was still around.

She clicked on a video file, something that was newer and labeled within the past year.

The video showed her a lab, technicians moving back and forth in front of a camera. It looked modern, steel and white and sterile.

Everyone in frame stilled and looked up at the sound of a door opening. She watched as a large, chrome, refrigerator looking casket was wheeled in a dropped down. Darcy gasped when she recognized the frozen face of Bucky. Even in the grainy video footage, she could see his face lined in icy pain.

The lead lab tech announced the process for unfreezing. Darcy watched, unable to tear her eyes away. The entire process took more than thirty minutes.

The door to the casket opened. Bucky’s video form gasped and twisted as life and air returned to his body; each muscle of his chest visibly twitching and flexing, fingers testing movement, eyes blinking against the dim lab lights.

Two technicians approached with caution to help him down and Darcy jumped when Bucky seized and threw the two men across the room. His attacks were lightning quick, neither man had a prayer of a chance to respond or defend himself. Her mind flashed back to the night of Bucky’s nightmare, the way he attacked her. Her hand went unconsciously to her neck, where she still had the scar from where he’d sliced her. She could have easily been tossed around like the two scientists on the video.

In the video feed, a third man approached, this time with a gun, but Bucky knocked his weapon to the ground and grabbed him by the throat with his cybernetic hand.

Even though the guard in the video was a Hydra asshole henchman, Darcy worried for him, watching him go limp in Bucky’s grasp and fall lifeless to the ground.

She shook her head, it wasn’t Bucky. The Asset, they kept calling him, the soldier—whatever name he had, that wasn’t the Bucky she knew. The man with rage in his veins and ice in his eyes wasn’t the same guy that laughed with her over dinners or knew how she took her coffee or let her have the last slice of pizza on movie nights.

Another form entered the video feed, a man in a suit, with his back to the lens of the camera. Bucky stilled in the video, his head ducking between his shoulders, but his body still tensed for a fight. The man clicked some sort of control in his hand that sent Bucky to the ground, electric pulses hitting him from his metal arm.

The sound of his grinding scream lodged into Darcy’s bones, her shoulders hunching together in effort to comfort herself from the terrible sound. The pain lasted minutes and leaving Bucky on his knees, shoulders heaving just in effort to breathe.

“Get up,” ordered the suited man.

Bucky turned his face toward his master's, eyes defiant but beaten. He stood, shaky, chin to the ground and sat back in the chair behind him without being told.

“Wipe him,” the man commanded. “We’ll begin tomorrow.”

Another tech approached, Bucky’s eyes followed the suited man out of frame. A mouth guard was inserted into his teeth and bindings locked over his wrists and legs. Darcy gripped her pillow, her knuckles turning white.

The chair tilted back and some kind of x-ray looking device lowered over his head. Then came the screams. The screams of his punishment before were nothing compared to what she heard from him in that chair. Suddenly his attacks made sense. She no longer felt bad for the labs techs that had been thrown like rag dolls or the guard that had his throat crushed. Hell, Darcy wanted to jump through the screen. She wanted to find every person who just stood there, listening to a man in agony, and rip them to shreds—to see how they liked whatever was being done to him.

“Mind wipe.”

Darcy gasped and turned around at the voice.

Bucky hovered in her bedroom doorway, staring at the screen of her laptop as it replayed scenes of his torture.

“I remember it,” Bucky continued. “Now I do.” His fingers twitched at his side, his brow lined with the memory of the pain as his video self continued to scream. “Every time I woke, they’d start it over. They clear me out like a computer, input their own data, and give me my mission. Freeze me until I was needed again.”

“How long have you been standing there?”

Darcy was surprised at her own voice, thick with tears, and she realized her cheeks were wet. She tried to brush it off.

“A while,” he answered. “Long enough.”

Darcy stood from her bed and approached him, carefully, again feeling like she was in the deep end. They both were, she guessed.

“I—“ No. She stopped herself. Words weren’t going to work in this situation. The need to say something was burning her throat, but she couldn’t. What could she possibly say?

Bucky was a man of action, not words, so Darcy needed to be a girl of action. Without giving it too much thought or a chance for her to chicken out, she reached forward and took his fingers, threading her own flesh between his metal.

He stared blankly at their twined fingers, not gripping back, or participating in any way. Darcy watched his eyes study their joined hands and wondered if by facing his demons, that something had been opened in him that should have stayed closed. Maybe she was wrong and knowing was worse than not knowing.

She opened her mouth to voice the thought, but never got the chance. Bucky’s hand reacted, closing around hers, and tugged her forward so that she fell into his chest. His arms locked around her and his weight collapsed onto her. She sunk to the ground, unable to support him, and he sobbed into her hair.

They landed with Bucky curling into her lap in the middle of her doorway. Darcy threaded her fingers through his damp hair, murmuring to him, realizing that he must not have seen everything she’d been privy to. His hair was damp and smelled like shampoo, so he must have showered before sneaking into her apartment.

His breaths came faster and his sobs grew more violent, Darcy reached to his face and tilted it so she could meet his eyes.

“Breathe with me,” she said realizing what was happening. “You’re having a panic attack. Just breathe.”

She stayed with his eyes, exaggerating her own breaths so he could follow. His stare, deep and stormy, searched hers for an anchor in the storm as he matched the rise and fall of her chest.

After a few minutes, he began to calm. Darcy brushed her thumb under his eyes to clean away the tears.

Bucky swallowed, licking his lips, his eyes dropping to Darcy’s mouth.

“Hey, you with me?” she asked.

He looked back up at her. “Yeah, I’m with you.”

A voice from the computer sliced the silence, startling them both. Angry, Russian words shouted from a masked face. Darcy had forgotten she left the video playing. Quickly she jumped up and slammed her laptop shut.

“That’s enough of that,” she declared to the faceless voice in the video.

When she turned, Bucky was standing at attention, fist clenched. He looked like he was about to punch something.

“Bucky, wha—“ She didn’t have the chance to finish her question before Bucky was grabbing her hand and dragging her out her front door, to the elevators.

“We have to get to Barton,” he told her.

Darcy stammered for a second. “Jarvis? Where’s Clint?”

“Agent Barton is in his quarters,” Jarvis answered, the elevator moving up. “I will alert him to your arrival.”

Seconds later the elevator doors opened and Bucky was dragging Darcy down the hall. Clint met them at his door, rubbing his sleepy face.

“What’s the red alert?” Barton asked, his hair spiking in every direction, pajama bottoms slung low on his hips.

“The Samaritan has been compromised,” Bucky said.

Alarm washed over Clint’s features. “How do you know?”

“There was a message on a video file from the flash drive, a kill order. Either The Samaritan is working with Hydra or—“

The color drained from Clint’s face. “They planted that information hoping it would be found.” Clint spun and Bucky followed, pulling Darcy inside. “Nat!”

Natasha appeared from the bedroom, already dressed, throwing a shirt and a bag in Barton’s direction. He caught both, slinging the bag onto his dining table and pulling the shirt over his head.

The Black Widow moved to the other side of the room, grabbing a leather jacket from where it had been left over the back of an easy chair. She shrugged into it and zipped up while Clint double checked the weapons in his pack.

“How long do we have?” she asked.

Bucky answered. “They’ll wait until they’re sure the information has been received, then they’ll make their move.”

“Is there a trace on the file?”

“No way,” Barton replied. “Samaritan built it, it can’t be traced.”

Darcy watched Natasha share a look with Bucky. “If they can plant something on their without Samaritan knowing…”

“Fuck,” Barton yelled, disappearing into his bedroom.

When he reemerged seconds later, his bow was strapped to his back, purple and gray Kevlar vest hugging his torso.

“Do you know where you’re going?” Bucky asked.

“Roundabout. I can drop down in an hour. I’m not bothering to sneak around.”

Bucky nodded. “I’ll give you a thirty minute head start. Depending on the trace, they might wonder why their message wasn’t played in full.”

“We’ll call you in two hours then,” Natasha said, holstering a pistol to her thigh.

Without another word, both she and Clint disappeared through Clint’s front door. The whole call-to-action scene had taken less than five minutes. Darcy felt breathless. Bucky was still holding onto her hand.

“What just happened?”

“The Russian at the end of the video, it was something Hydra planted for me to find, an order to finish my final mission. That means they knew their files were being hacked. They knew the Samaritan was digging and would deliver it to me.”

“Holy shit,” Darcy breathed. “I guess it’s lucky you didn’t see the whole message.”

His jaw ticked. “I’m not their weapon anymore.”

“No, you’re not,” she agreed, giving his hand a squeeze. “I hope Clint makes it to the Samaritan in time.”

Bucky squeezed her hand back. “Me too, doll. Me too.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention in the last chapter a little music recommendation I have: I know not everyone is into metal/hardcord/screamo/whatever you want to call it music, but the song No Ordinary Love by Memphis May Fire is one that I've been listening to on REPEAT. One) because I love it and two) It's a really great Bucky/Wintershock song and gets me into a Bucky headspace. 
> 
> Also thanks everyone for the continued comments and the continued putting up with weird canon switches as this story develops. I honestly didn't plan on it being a full on fic when I wrote the first few chapters but now I'm in it for the long haul. Hope you guys are too :)
> 
> Oh! And sorry for the lack of extreme romance. I'm all about little moments and touches as these two develop but I've got EPIC moments planned down the line.
> 
> Thanks for reading you guys! Comments are always appreciated :)
> 
> follow me on tumblr at hybridlovelies


	9. Part VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning: I betaed this particular chapter mostly myself, so there are still probably a lot of errors. But I was impatient to get it out, because I'm half through the next bit.

Once Clint and Natasha were gone, Darcy took the lead. She tugged Bucky’s hand and pulled him back to her apartment, back to her bedroom. A teeny, tiny part of her mused that she might want to one day drag him to her bedroom under completely different circumstances.

But now wasn’t the time for that.

“We have to get rid of that,” she said staring at the computer. “Don’t we?”

Bucky shook his head. “No, we need to wait for Clint to get closer to wherever the Samaritan is, get him or her to safety, then play the message through. I’m guessing it will set off some sort of signal to a Hydra operative that the message is received and the Samaritan is no longer useful. Then, they’ll want to terminate the person who has been double crossing them.

“I’m guessing the kind of terminate you mean doesn’t include well wishes and a severance package,” Darcy quipped.

She gave Bucky a quick once over, trying to get a read on him. Moments before, he’d been crumbling into emotional, soggy pieces in her lap—she didn’t judge him for that at all. In the blink of an eye, he’d spurned into action and rushed to warn Clint about the danger surrounding the Samaritan, all determined and calm, without even a hint to the fact that he’d been a wreck just before. She admired him for that. Depending on how things went down, his quick thinking probably saved the hacker who’d been helping S.H.I.E.L.D.

Standing in her room, he looked keyed up and primed for action. There was a restlessness in the twitch of his muscles. Even though he was wearing comfy clothes--baseball t-shirt and sweats--Darcy thought he looked just as ready for action as Natasha had in her Black Widow gear.

“Out of curiosity,” she pondered. “What was your final mission? What was the face on the video telling you to do?”

As a result of a little snooping, Darcy learned that Bucky’s original mission against S.H.I.E.L.D. was to assassinate Nick Fury. It was how he’d crossed paths with Steve and Natasha in the first place. She wasn’t sure what happened with that, but she did know that S.H.I.E.L.D.’s director had been missing for almost a year.

“Kill Steve,” he answered. “My final mission was to kill Captain America.”

Darcy couldn’t help the way her eyes widened, but she schooled her reaction before Bucky saw it. “Feeling any murderous thoughts at the moment? Need me to say the magic words?”

“I’m good. But it’s probably not a good idea for me to watch that video again, just in case.”

“Don’t worry, dude. I’m all over it. Then I’m probably going to burn that flash drive and my laptop knowing that Hydra grossness has infected it.” Her shoulders shook, and she made an exaggerated shivering sound. Bucky studied her with a confused look. “What?”

“I keep waiting for you to—“

“Scream and run away?”

“Yeah.” He exhaled, running the hand not holding Darcy’s—his flesh hand--behind his neck.

“Not my style,” she replied simply. “I’ve seen a lot of shit, I’ve only told you the half of it when it comes to aliens and dark elves and magic powers. Also, I’m pretty sure all the stuff I’m researching on daily in the lab is in some kind of preparation for a possible Armageddon, so I try not to think about _that_ too much. So yeah, running away, not my style.”

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head, and let go of her hand, his fingers flexing at his side.

“You’re just as bad as Steve.”

“Speaking of the Cap…should we go tell him about the super secret Hydra message of death?”

“Nah, there’s not much he can do about it now. He’ll just get worked up. It can wait until morning.”

She looked over at the digital clock on her night stand. “Morning isn’t that far away.”

“Then it can wait a couple of hours.”

It seemed like a flimsy excuse to Darcy, but she let it slide. For whatever reason he wasn’t in a hurry to rush to the Avengers de-facto leader and she wasn’t ready to let Bucky out of her sight. The restless tension lingered and she wanted to be there in case he went off again. Also, she was scared, too. She hated what she saw of Bucky’s past, not because she saw it, but because of what was done and how utterly unfair it all was. She was also worried for Clint and Natasha and whoever the Samaritan turned out to be. She didn’t want that person to die because they’d risked their life to help The Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D.

Feeling bold, Darcy reached over and wrapped her arms around Bucky’s waist.

“What are you doing?”

His arms jerked out of the way and up into the space around them, careful not to touch her.

“Invading your personal space,” she answered, undeterred. “I’m giving you a hug. Because you look like you need one and I sure as hell need one.”

Five more seconds ticked by before Bucky relaxed and wrapped his arms around her in return. Darcy nuzzled her nose into his chest, taking comfort in his spring-fresh soap smell, left over from his shower.

.

.

.

.

.

Neither of them slept. Bucky stayed in Darcy’s apartment after she played video message from Hydra to its end and whatever trigger was on it had been pulled. She put on a headphones and he hovered just outside her bedroom door. Darcy, true to her word, destroyed the laptop as soon as the task was finished.

He suggested a movie, hoping she would fall asleep to it. Bucky recalled her dozing during their frequent movie nights when they first started hanging out together and her mentioning that sleeping with the television on was a habitual thing for her. She mentioned her favorite Disney cartoon--wanting something cheery--to Jarvis and the AI brought it to her television screen.

Unfortunately, she stayed awake through the whole damn thing, eyeing his phone on the coffee table every five minutes, eager and hopeful for word from Barton or Romanoff. He swore she didn’t even blink while the brunette on screen sung about books and dreams of a better life.

Bucky knew he would need to report to Steve soon. The revelation of the message meant there were bigger things to consider. The excuse about Steve needing a reprieve from every emergency was true, but mostly a stall. Bucky felt keyed up, anxious, and a little unstable. Not that the message got through to him. He’d cut the strings that Hydra used to control him. Seeing his past sins, feeling the emotions of it all, stirred the guilt he felt as Bucky Barnes and the confusion of the man he was now. Everything collided in an infinite tangle of remorse, sadness, regret, and rage and for a moment it was too much.  For a moment he collapsed under it all.

There was something about being around Darcy that calmed him. The warmth of her lap, her vanilla scent, her hands brushing over his head, soothed him. It gave him something to hold on to in the present. He decided to roll with it, using her nearness as an anchor, letting himself breathe again.

Dawn slipped by them and Darcy headed to the lab, dead on her feet, dark circles under her eyes.

“Shouldn’t we have heard from them by now?” she questioned as they strolled the hallway to the lab.

“Not necessarily,” he answered. “I’ll let you know the moment I hear from Barton or Romanoff.”

Darcy accepted his answer with a nod and turned to go into the lab. “Hang on,” she spun back to him and grabbed his arm, “Clint and Natasha. Is that a thing? We _totally_ walked in on them—“ He rolled his lips back to hide his amusement at the mischief on her face. “It’s _totally_ a thing isn’t it?”

“Doll, believe it or not, I don’t pay much attention to other people’s love lives,” Darcy made a face, urging him for any sort of information he could reveal. “Spies don’t tend to let others know who or what they care about. Feelings are played a little closer to the vest.”

“In the missions you’ve been on together he’s never alluded to anything with Natasha? Come on! Gossip with me!”

Bucky was already walking away, almost to the elevator. He turned back to face her, still walking, and offered her a genuine grin. “Gossip later, science now.”

He laughed when she muttered “ _you’re no fun_ ” loud enough for him to hear over the elevator ding.

.

.

.

.

.

Steve hated treadmills. He’d been running in the same place for almost an hour, barely breaking a sweat under Stark Tower’s state of the art, temp controlled gym. Because he was the only person there, Jarvis was program to keep the temperatures adjusting to his body’s needs.

It was one thing he missed about Washington; running around the National Mall, the green grass, wide-open space. Sure, he was a city boy, born and bred, but the idea of city had changed since his time. He could barely leave the tower without someone recognizing him and drawing attention.

His trainers pounded the black belt rolling under his feet. Miles and miles and he was getting nowhere.

The door to the gym opened and he spotted Bucky walking in toward him. He pushed a button on the treadmill and slowed it to a stop. A few nerves flared, recalling their discussion the night before that hadn’t ended all that well.

Steve pushed, he knew he pushed, only wanting what was best.

Bucky stopped next to the machine, nodding up at him.

“I was gonna come check on you—“ he started and stopped himself, trying to sound less like a mother hen. “Did you open it?”

There was no need to specify what “it” was.

“Yeah,” Bucky replied, looking away. “ I changed my mind.”

“Good,” Steve said. “I mean—“

“That’s not what I came here for.” His friend’s eyes flashed up to him and Steve was struck by the serious set of his brow. He’d expected some sort of aftermath from viewing the contents of the past. Bucky seemed--well, he seemed like the same guy he’d been for the past few weeks, the same sort of darkness surround him, but in his face some sort of determination driving him forward. “There was a message for me on that flash drive, something new, something from Hydra. An order to finish my final mission.”

Steve tensed. He couldn’t help it and he hated himself because of it. He knew Bucky’s final mission was to kill him. For a moment he wondered if all their months of progress had been wiped away.

But Bucky cracked a grin, one side of his face lifting. “Relax, punk, I’m not here to kill you.”

Steve rolled his eyes and hopped off the treadmill, grabbing the white towel that was slung over the side. “If Hydra is sending you a message, then that means—“

“That they knew I would get that flash drive? Yes.”

“The Samaritan was a Hydra agent the whole time?”

“No, I don’t think so. Barton is connected to him or her in some way, has been for a long time, I think that rules out the possibly we were being double crossed. But it does mean that Hydra has known about the Samaritan for some time.”

Steve’s brain clicked into action and he darted in the direction of the door. “We need to alert Barton. Jarvis, do you have a twenty on Agent Barton?”

Before the AI could provide a location, Bucky grabbed Steve, stopping him in his tracks.

“I already talked to Barton. He and Romanoff kicked outta here before dawn to go on a rescue. I’m still waiting for one of them to report back.”

“Why didn’t you alert me?”

“You need a break from dealing with other people’s problems, Stevie. I took care of it.”

Steve took a deep breath, realizing that Bucky was speaking to him as a friend, not a sergeant to his captain. There was genuine concern on his face. Steve didn’t feel relief though, instead he felt guilt. Bucky shouldn’t be worried about him, it was his turn for Steve to look out for him, not the other way around. “It’s not like that.”

“I know,” Bucky replied. “But still, you don’t have to shoulder everything. Some of us can take our turns carrying the load.”

There was a small, reassuring smile playing around the edges of Bucky’s face. A brightness in his eyes that Steve hadn’t seen since…well, since that night in the bar back during the war. Back when Bucky promised to follow him into battle. Not Captain America, but Steve Rogers.

He knew Bucky was also trying to tell him that he was okay. That he could deal with things, that he didn’t need Captain America or Steve Rogers mothering him at every turn. But it still didn’t make Steve feel any better about not being able to focus his attention more on his healing friend.

Steve grabbed his things and invited Bucky up for some breakfast, Bucky agreed, as long as he was allowed to cook. The elevator zipped them up to Bucky’s floor and they ambled down the hallway to Bucky’s apartment.

“So, just playing the waiting game until you hear from one of them?” Steve inquired.

“Yep.”

The apartment was still sparse, still neat as a pin, the curtains around the large glass windows half drawn. Steve noticed a polaroid camera on the edge of the coffee table, a stack of photos next to it, sparking his interest. He wondered where--

“Catch.” Bucky called out a second before he was tossing a bottle of water in Steve’s direction. He caught it, curiosity about the camera and photos forgotten as he slid into the counter stool to wait as Bucky prepared food.

“Any idea where they went?”

“Not a clue,” he replied.

It didn’t surprise Steve. Clint wasn’t that different from Natasha in terms of secret keeping. He expunged even less than she did at times, always answering questions with questions or covering with sarcastic remarks.

The whole situation had all of his instincts on alert. Hydra’s silence and Natasha’s remarks the day before about Hydra using the Samaritan to possibly manipulate them. She’d been right and she hadn’t even realized it. Steve wondered and worried how long Hydra might have known about their mole. How long would Hydra have been feeding information to the go-between in effort to throw them off.

He ground his jaw as he sat at the counter while Bucky made breakfast. Was there anything he could trust?

“There is one other thing,” Bucky said, breaking him out of his spinning thoughts. His friend raised his metal arm and twisted it back and forth, the plates gleaming in the sunshine that burst through the windows. “I ripped out all the trackers that Hydra implanted in me, but I’ve gotta be honest. I’m not sure what might be in here or if anything can be controlled remotely.”

Steve saw the remorse in Bucky’s face. He’d put them in potential danger, not knowing the full capability of his cybernetic limb.

“I didn’t think about it either,” Steve admitted. “Stark can take a look. He’s inbound tomorrow for some UN conference this weekend, but he said something about coming in early to surprise Miss Lewis.”

“Darcy?”

Bucky sounded surprised and Steve didn’t blame him. Tony wasn’t known for having many friends and he wouldn’t have pictured a scenario in which Dr. Foster’s assistant and Tony Stark would have spent any time together.

Steve shrugged. “I guess they’re friends.” Bucky nodded and focused his attention on the stove again. “By the way, when did you learn to cook?”

“I….learned,” he stammered, “From…someone…hey—there is one more thing.”

“Another thing?”

Bucky’s features went dark and Steve watched a wall go up right in front of him. “There was something on the file…about Stark’s parents…and me.”

Steve remembered reading about the accident that had killed Howard Stark and his wife, Maria, a tragic loss to the scientific community and to the world. He looked up at Bucky, fully realizing what his friend was getting at.

“Do you remember them?”

“No,” he bit out. “But the evidence says it all.”

Steve nodded. He didn’t want to tell Bucky it was okay. It was far from it and he didn’t want to lie. “Tony can’t ever find out. He and his father…they weren’t close but…”

“It’s still his parents,” Bucky finished. “I can’t imagine he’d want to be teammates with the guy responsible for killing them--”

“He doesn’t need to know,” Steve said, a finality in his tone that shut down any further argument on the subject.

Breakfast was ready and they sat in silence as they ate, the laundry list of things to worry about tumbling over and over inside of Steve’s head.

Bucky’s cell buzzed on the table and he swiped it up, putting it on speaker. “Barton.”

“ _It’s Romanoff_.”

The two super soldiers looked up from the phone at one another.

“Natasha, where’s Barton? Is everything okay?” Steve asked.

“Everything’s fine. We got the Samaritan out. We’re going to a safe house. Barton’s going to stay for a while, I’ll be back tonight.”

“What happened—what did you find?”

“Later Rogers,” she responded. “Now’s not the time.”

Steve didn’t appreciate the way Natasha shut him down, but dealt with it. He heard shuffling on the line and the sound of Barton’s voice.

“Hey Barnes?”

“I’m here,” Bucky answered.

“I owe you one. Lewis, too. The both of you saved a life tonight.”

Bucky stared down at the phone. “Don’t mention it.

“I’m serious,” Clint urged. “I won’t forget this.”

Bucky nodded, which didn’t help much considering it was a phone conversation. The call disconnected and Bucky slid from his stool, slipping his phone into his pocket, and grabbing a mug from his cabinet. He turned to the coffee pot, filling up the mug, and tossing in sugar and a couple other spices that Steve didn’t catch.

“What are you doing?”

“I gotta go take care of something,” he replied, spinning a top onto the travel mug. “Mind cleaning up?”

Bucky didn’t give him much of a chance to answer, or to tell him he did well, before he was rushing out the door, leaving a bewildered Steve behind with the rest of his breakfast.

.

.

.

.

.

Darcy was alone in the lab that day. Jane had an interview scheduled, thanks to her recent brush with death and the questions of her work. She didn’t normally like doing interviews or being in the spotlight and avoided discussing any ongoing research with the press, but the backlash after the attacks had left her reeling and she wanted to set her reputation straight. After finally gaining some respect in the scientific community, she didn’t want to let it go.

Darcy didn’t feel like accompanying her to the interview. It would be a coffee date with some journalist, Darcy would be ignored and she would probably be stuck paying for her own scones while the her company went back and forth on subjects she didn’t altogether understand. That, and nodding off every ten seconds probably wouldn’t help Jane look very good.

Working without her laptop proved to be difficult. How did people survive before the Internet and computers? How did anything get done?

Without a computer or a scientist around to supervise, she curled up on the couch inside Jane’s office to dive into a book on Norse Mythology. She went at it analog style, with different colored highlighters in hand, her very specific color-coded research system coming into play, perfected in freshman year lecture halls.

At some point she must have passed out, because the next thing she heard was the sound of computer keys clicking. The book she’d been reading had been pulled from where it must have collapsed on her stomach and set on the floor, replaced with the violet afghan that lived on the back of the sofa. Her highlighters were sitting on top of the large tome, placed neatly back into their box.

“Jane?” Darcy called out. She didn’t expect her back so soon. Maybe the interview had gone badly.

“Hey.”

Instead of finding Jane, she found Bucky, perched at her lab table clicking away at what looked like a brand new Macbook.

“Sleeping on the job?” he teased.

“Just a little cat nap,” she said stretching her arms out to relieve the kinks in her shoulders.

A chuckled slipped from Bucky’s throat. “A cat nap that lasts three hours?”

“Wha—“ Darcy ran back to the couch and dug her phone from between the cushions, noticing that it was way past lunchtime.

Bucky was smirking at her when she came back out to the lab. “I came by earlier with coffee, but you were passed out.”

“I’m exhausted. Did you sleep yet?”

“I took care of a couple things before I came back to check on you.”

Darcy rolled her eyes, still not awake enough to complain that he should have gotten some sleep himself. Her stomach rumbled and she rubbed her palm across her belly.

“I’m starving.”

Bucky nodded his head toward the kitchenette. “Sandwiches in the fridge.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” she sighed, skipping into the kitchenette and pulling out a giant meatball sub with her name on it. Guessing that no sleep for Bucky also meant no food for Bucky, she cut it in half and separated the giant sandwich onto two plates, setting one down beside him on the table and taking the stool next to his.

“What’s this?” she asked around a bite of marinara and bread, pointing to the fancy computer.

“Your new laptop.”

“Shut up.” She blinked at his blank expression, mouth hanging open in surprise. “You’re serious?”

He pushed the computer to her and held out a hand, offering for her to take it.

Darcy slid it closer and started to click around, seeing all of her backed up files from the old laptop, all of her photos, even all of her precious music stored onto the new machine. “Holy shit.”

“I figured since it was my fault your last one was ruined…” He trailed off, rubbing his hand behind his neck.

“This is too nice,” she protested. Her other laptop had been a low-tech PC that she bought her first year of college on a credit card that she was still struggling to pay off.

“I did some research and this was the best,” he explained. “I had Jarvis organize and upload your backups.”

“You didn’t have to—“

“Yes,” he interrupted, silencing her with a serious stare. “Yes, I did.”

Her mouth snapped shut and she rolled her lips together to prevent herself from arguing. She didn’t know how Bucky afforded a $1500 laptop, but it seemed to be important to him that he do this for her.

“Thank you,” she murmured, turning her attention back to the screen and it’s wonderful clarity. The last one had begun to dim from so much use. “Speaking of Jarvis, apparently he’s been doing both of us favors today.”

“Is that so?” Bucky asked, turning his attention to the lunch Darcy had set next to him.

“The Hydra message sort of gave me an idea,” she explained, trying to brush along the mention of the message as quickly as she could. “There were a bunch of tapes from the professor that sounded like recordings of prayers in Arabic, but I’m thinking…”

“There might be a secret message hidden in one?”

“Exactly,” she said. “It would be the perfect place to hide secret messages. Even if whoever is behind the attack went through all of his files to make sure he didn’t leave any clues, they probably wouldn’t think to double check anything not in English. It would be the perfect hiding spot.”

“If there is something to hide…” Bucky remarked, reminding her that Professor Hodges’ innocence was still just speculation.

Darcy narrowed her eyes at him. “I can’t wait to find something and be able to tell you I told you so.”

“I heard from Natasha.”

Darcy nearly choked on her sandwich, coughing as she hit him with a wide eyed look. “Dude! Way to bury the lead! Are they okay?”

“Everything is fine, Clint is taking the Samaritan to the safe house. He’s gonna stay out for a while. He sounded fairly shaken.”

“Whoever the Samaritan is, it seems like they were close. It’s not just some random contact,” Darcy surmised. “Any chance you know who it is?”

“Always one for gossip,” he teased. “Maybe we’ll find out once Natasha is back.”

“You play it cool, but you can’t tell me that you’re not dying to know,” she teased.

“Yeah, I wanna know. I wanna know who this person is that dug that all that intel up on me and how the hell they did it.”

Darcy recognized the agitation in his voice. “It bothers you?”

“Wouldn’t it bother you if all your secrets were out there waiting to be discovered by the wrong people? I’ve done a lot of bad shit, Darce. Shit that maybe you and Steve are willing to overlook but…”

“Not everyone would be so forgiving…”

“Like Tony Stark or the United States government to name a couple of the big ones.”

The haunted look returned to his features.

“Okay, you know what,” Darcy announced. “We need a break. We need a break from Hydra and bad memories and fucking bombs and red alert emergencies. Tonight, I declare break time. We aren’t allowed to talk about any of the horrible shit in our lives. We just forget about it all and have fun and maybe, just maybe, crack a full-on smile. I know you have it in you.”

“What exactly will this break time entail?”

“Don’t you worry about it,” she gave him a sly smile. “You just show up at my door at 0800 hours sharp.”

Bucky smirked, just a little bit. “That’s eight in the morning, doll. Not eight at night.”

“Whatever, eight pm, my door, be there,” Darcy ordered. “Tonight, we bustin’ outta this joint!”

**  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope my spelling/grammatical errors weren't too atrocious.
> 
> I'm really working on adding Steve as a third POV in this story, without him being just a flat character. It's an exercise for me. I usually go back and forth between two main character POVs in a story, so yay trying new things!
> 
> I'm also really in love with the various headcanons surrounding Wintershock and food (obviously you know this, if you've made it this far in this fic). Also, I'm originally from the South (US) and we like to show affection and concern through food. So we have Bucky providing food to his two favorite people in this chapter, is what I'm saying. A skill he's picked up from Darcy. 
> 
> Also, oblivious Steve noticing things and not connecting dots.
> 
> Okay...okay! I'll stop narcissistically dissecting my own story and let you guys take a crack at it!
> 
> Also, I'm having a blast writing this and planning it and I love you guys for being here and reading and ESPECIALLY reading comments and messages.


	10. Part IX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, this is unbetaed. So please pardon my very terrible mistakes. I've also finally decided where this falls within canon! Even though it's not canon compliant exactly, I decided that it takes place after The Winter Solider, before Age of Ultron. HOWEVER, the Triskelion battle and the fall of SHEILD hasn't happened. I imagine that after the bridge and recognizing Steve, Bucky escaped on his own.
> 
> That may be different than something I've suggested before, so thanks for putting up with inconsistencies and just riding along as I drive this thing :)
> 
> p.s. apologies to any New Yorkers reading this and me getting locations in Brooklyn totally effing wrong!

Darcy never considered herself a fashionista. She could drool over Vogue spreads or peruse judgey fashion blogs, sometimes she spend her down time scrolling through outfits on Pinterest, but her style radar was pretty much nil. She preferred comfortable to ever trying to look stylish or sexy, her wardrobe full of leggings, chunky sweaters, t-shirts, and worn jeans.

Most of her days since moving into Stark Tower were spent in lab coats, so it really didn’t matter what she wore.

For her night out with Bucky, she decided she wanted to look a little more special for a change. Maybe outfit wouldn’t land her in any fashion forward style blogs, but she was definitely stoked to be wearing what she deemed “real people clothes” for the evening.

There was a burgundy dress that had been collecting dust in the back of her closet for a few months. That with her chunky cream colored sweater and some black tights with little hearts on them were perfect. She looked nice, still comfortable, but not like she was trying too hard.

Darcy was applying her favorite lipstick--a shade of crimson that nearly matched her dress--when she was interrupted by her favorite resident AI.

“Miss Lewis,” Jarvis called from above. “I have the address you inquired about earlier. I’ve emailed the information so you may access it on your mobile.”

“Thanks, J.” She pressed her lips together and popped them open again, admiring the way the red looked against her ivory face. Even during her time in New Mexico, she hadn’t gained even a hint of color on her cheeks. Sunburns abounded, though. Her entire life she was either porcelain white or lobster red. England’s may have sucked because of the constant rain, but at least she wasn’t a walking sunburn while they lived there.

“There is one other matter, Miss Lewis, although I hate to mention it before your date with Sargent Barnes.”

Darcy’s head snapped up, her curled tresses spinning around her shoulders. “It’s not a date.”

Even though she was alone in her apartment, she peeked out into the hall, worried that someone had overheard the slip.

“I beg your pardon for the assumption,” the AI apologized, with some hint of embarrassment. If it was even possible for a computer to feel embarrassed.

She wasn’t going on a date with Bucky. Yeah, she was dressing up, but that was for herself, not for him. It was because she wanted to wear something nice for the first time in weeks. If he happened to think she looked good while wearing it, then that was just an added bonus.

No, it wasn’t a date. A date involved dinner and in depth, soul-bearing conversation followed by a romantic walk home and a hot kiss goodnight. Not at all what she had planned for the evening and certainly not with Bucky.

Sure, she had some not so PG thoughts about him sometimes. She wasn’t blind. Even under the hobo look and the PTSD, there was a hot as hell dude that sometimes made her knees shake when he looked in her direction. But he was one of her best friends. Any flirting she did was completely innocent, it didn’t mean anything, it was just all in good fun.

“Um…er…what were you saying about some other…thing?” She stammered, trying to banish Jarvis’s suggestion from her thoughts.

“I finished translating Professor Hodges’ voice recordings as requested.”

“I take it nothing interesting came up?”

“On the contrary, Miss Lewis. In a recording dated a week before yours and Dr. Foster’s visit to the college the Professor, well—shall I play the translation for you?”

Darcy turned and sat down on her closed toilet seat. “Go ahead Jarvis.”

“ _I must ask forgiveness_.” The professor’s translated voice came through the overhead speaker in her bathroom. His words were in English, though they were still his voice. How Jarvis managed to restructure the sounds was beyond her understanding. “ _I have been tasked with a grievous mission, by sinister people. I must do what I can to make it right, though I am uncertain anyone will ever discover this recording. Perhaps years from now and it will only serve a purpose to clear my own name, perhaps it is selfish for me to wish that. I wish I could make a different choice, a better choice. But there are those that I care about, their lives are at stake. They will hate me, when they think they know what I have done, but I must protect them._

_If she dies, I cannot regret it. It is not her death they want._

_They are a virus. They will infect and destroy. This is the beginning, to tear the chosen ones asunder._

_This is as much as I can reveal._

_I hope it counts for something, in the eyes of Allah.”_

The recording ended, the voice lapsing back into Arabic as if nothing was out of sorts. Darcy remained seated, eyes shifting absently over her bathroom tiles, replaying Hodges’ words in her head.

“I believe the Professor avoided using proper nouns to avoid detection,” Jarvis suggested.

“So, he or ‘they’ didn’t want to kill Jane?” Darcy assessed.

The discovery didn’t make things clearer to Darcy. It made it more complicated. The only thing it revealed was the fact that Hodges’ was in fact, innocent. He wasn’t working under his own agenda. Someone had bullied him into trying to kill Jane. But he wasn’t supposed to kill Jane?

 “I must say well done, Miss Lewis in your idea to translate these recordings. It’s clear the Professor never expected someone to find it so quickly. Very clever of you.”

Darcy gave a small smile. “Thanks, Jarvis.”

There was a beep from her door, alerting her that someone was in the hallway. “Sergeant Barnes has arrived.”

“Crap,” she groused rushing out of the bathroom and toward her bedroom. She scrambled to find her boots and grabbed her phone, dialing Jane’s number. “Are you home?” she asked when Jane answered.

“Yeah, I’m in the lab. Why do you sound out of breath?”

“Don’t go anywhere tonight.”

“I don’t have any plans.”

“Good, stay home. Stay in the lab, science it up. Just don’t leave the tower, okay?”

The door buzzed again as Darcy zipped up her knee high boots.

“Why are you being weirder than usual?” Jane questioned.

“Just do what I say. I’ll explain later.” She hung up the call and threw open the door. “Hey!”

“Hey.” Bucky returned, curling his hair behind his ear.

She glanced over Bucky’s outfit, envying the way guys could always dress down no matter where they went. Bucky was in a white t-shirt, faded jeans, and black leather jacket. A gray flannel peeked out around the edges of the jacket. He still wore his usual combat boots.

He looked like a hipster dreamboat in all of his layers, but Darcy knew he chose it all out of practicality than trying to look good. Bucky wanted to blend in and look normal and he also wanted to hide the arm from sight. His hand was covered in snug leather gloves.

“You clean up nice,” she grinned. “Ready to sneak out?”

“Lead the way, ma’am.”

They ventured downstairs to the residential lobby and grabbed a cab. Darcy directed the driver to an address that took the across the Brooklyn Bridge. Residual thoughts of Hodges’ recordings and what possible development would come of it fled her mind.

She glanced over at Bucky in the seat next to her, trying to gauge if he had any idea where they were going, or what his reaction might be. He remained quiet, staring out the window at the East River as they made their way out of Manhattan.

When they reached a certain set of cross streets along Bedford Avenue, Darcy told the driver to stop and let them out. She handed the driver cash as Bucky walked around and opened her door. She joined him on the sidewalk and looked around.

Cars and bicycles lined the street and graffiti art covered the brick buildings. Trendy cheese and record shops had flipped their signs to close, bars opened their doors, inviting hip New Yorkers to warm up on the crisp autumn night. It lacked the shoeshine stands, the war propaganda, the early model automobiles that Darcy had studied in the black and white photos Jarvis dug up for her, but she hoped it was familiar.

Darcy bit her lip and looked up at Bucky. “It probably looks way different now but…”

She trailed off, watching Bucky take in his surroundings, eyes studying the street signs, details of the buildings, and people around them.

“I’m home,” he said. “You brought me home.”

His eyes gazed past her head, unreadable, squinting against orange streetlight and neon signage.

“Kind of. I wasn’t sure exactly where you live, but I asked Jarvis to dig up some public records about where you and Steve grew up…”

His gaze snapped to her face and she stopped, nervous that she’d made a bad decision. She was on the verge of apologizing, suggesting they grab a cab, and go back to the tower when Bucky reached for her hand and pulled her down the sidewalk.

“This way,” he said moving her along and around the corner. He assaulted her with memories, pointing out landmarks, alleyways, stories of shops that had existed before they became trendy bars or pop up art galleries.

A smile played around the edges of his mouth with each tale he told, especially those of him and Steve and their misadventures as kids.

They stopped in front of a group of brownstones, sheltered by large hanging trees. Bucky stared up at the one in front of them, the large bay window lit, its insides cover by a white, gauzy curtain.

“Wow, you remembered.”

“Yeah,” he replied, carding his free hand through his hair. “My building was here,” he said. “They must have torn it down.”

“I’m sorry,” Darcy offered, also staring up at the brownstone that had replaced Bucky’s childhood home.

“It’s okay, it was a shitty building, probably demolished not long after the war,” he said. “My ma always talked about getting a place in Jackson Heights, something with a yard for me and my sisters. It was her dream.”

Darcy turned to him. “Maybe she did eventually.”

Bucky shook his head. “She died when I was thirteen. After that it was just me and the girls until they got married. Then Steve’s mom died and we got a place a few blocks from here. Then…” The war. He didn’t need to say it.

They lingered for a few more moments in silence, the sounds of the city in the background while Bucky relived memories from his past, his hand curved around hers.

“So, trip down memory lane isn’t the only thing I have planned tonight.”

Bucky’s mouth curved. “What else you got, doll?”

She wanted to laugh. Being back in Brooklyn really brought back that accent. “Come on.”

She smiled, nodding back in the direction they had come.

.

.

.

.

They walked into a faux-dive sort of bar, a few blocks away from where the cab had dropped them. A red glow hung in the air, floorboards sticky with beer. A double screen behind the bar played some old, cheesy sci-fi flick with not-scary metal robots and monsters with laser eyes. The blonde, busty damsel in distress screamed for her life as a hostess with dreads led Bucky and Darcy past, toward a back table against the wall.

The salt and pepper shakers were mismatched, but there was a jukebox playing in the corner near them. A band set up their instruments on a small stage, drums and cymbals clanging as the musicians concentrated more on beer and girls than anything else.

Darcy thanked the hostess when she let them know their waitress would be over soon. The table was a small high top, words and doodles carved into the dark, worn wood. A small red menu was passed to Bucky and he studied it. Pizza was the only option, every variety and topping imaginable. It was fancier than he thought a place like that might produce, not that he really had much for comparison.

Darcy chewed her lip as she perused the menu and shed her sweater, draping if over the back of her stool.

“Hey guys, how’s it going tonight?”

Their waitress had jet-black hair, styled in a way that Bucky might have seen back in the 40s, her lips ruby red, a sleeve of tattoos covering one arm.

“Two PB&J’s,” Darcy requested, ditching the menu. “Both pepperoni and mushroom.”

“You got it,” the girl winked, spinning away.

“I only understood two words of what you just said,” Bucky admitted.

“You’ll see,” she promised with a sing-song tone.

His gaze trailed to the wall beside them and the dozens of clippings, pictures, and doodles wallpapering the plaster. There was a black and white newspaper clipping, a caption citing the “Battle of New York,” and a picture of Steve and Natasha mid-fight, dressed in the Captain America and Black Widow gear. Over their faces someone had scribbled “Avengers Sux” in angry black ink with a dozen exclamation points following the sentiment.

Darcy caught him lingering and rolled her eyes.

“Such bullshit,” she muttered. “Not everyone is a big fan of The Avengers, especially in New York. You read about the Battle, right?”

Bucky nodded. He’d briefed himself on the major points in history in the past couple of decades, paying special attention to everything about the Avengers; from Tony Stark’s invention of Ironman to Captain America’s reawakening and Loki’s attempted take over.

“A lot of damage was done to the city and a lot of people think the Avenger’s are half to blame.”

“They were trying to save them,” he defended. He was still torn on his own beliefs, but he knew Steve only ever wanted to save the World.

“Hey, I’m on _their_ side! They _did_ save everyone. It’s Loki’s fault everything got so fucked up. But some people think that if the Avengers didn’t exist, neither would Thor, or aliens, or any of the other weird crap that has followed. They don’t realize evil existed before Thor dropped out of the sky or Captain America woke up from the ice.”

Bucky could attest to that. His memories from just before he “died” were more vivid than anything else. He remembered Red Skull and the magic and mystery that surround the insidious new Nazi power. Back then, there was no way people would have had the stomach for attacks from space aliens. Apparently, not much had changed.

“That was how Jane and I got stuck working for Tony.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed. “I don’t follow.”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. sent us into hiding as soon as Loki made an appearance on Earth. We didn’t have a fucking clue what was going on, we were just shipped off for our ‘own protection.’” She lifted her hand an made air quotes. “It was way later that we figured out Thor came back and we were in danger because Erik was kidnapped and they didn’t know if Loki would come after us to hurt Thor.” Bucky clenched his metal fist under the table. He knew about some of Loki’s power from recent history and didn’t like the mental images that came with the idea that the god would harm the woman sitting in front of him. He reigned in his agitation as she continued. “Then the whole thing with the Dark Elves…people were fucking scared. Both the US and the UK were fighting over Jane and her knowledge of aliens. They thought she could help fight any impending wars between Earth and alien beings, like somehow help build a fortress.”

“Could she?”

Darcy shrugged. “Maybe? But she’s not that kind of science. She doesn’t build weapons and tech. Anyways, Tony swooped in and offered her a job and basically protection from government vultures. I think that’s basically why she moved us here to New York, just to get away from all the pressure.”

The dark haired waitress returned with a balanced tray on her arm. She set down two beers, two shot glasses of brown liquid, and two slices of pepperoni and mushroom pizza. Darcy thanked her and let her know to keep the drinks coming.

“PB&J?” Bucky questioned.

“PBR, a shot of Jameson, and a slice of pizza,” Darcy explained. She lifted her shot glass in the air toward him. “Cheers.”

Bucky mirror her action. “What are we drinking to?”

“Home,” she stated, “And memories and good pizza and cheap booze.”

They clinked their glasses together and Bucky watched her toss back the shot, chasing it with a beer, and making a sour face as it all went down together.

“Where is home for you?” Bucky inquired, relaxing into the space. It was difficult to be completely relaxed. His eyes were darting around, constantly searching for threats or targets.

“Currently, Avengers Tower,” Darcy replied.

“You know what I mean,” he said, with an arch look.

“I grew up in Virginia. I ended up at Culver because of a state scholarship.”

“Parents?”

“Just me and my mom. My dad split when my brother and I were little. I was seven.”

Bucky nodded. Memories of his family were fuzzy at best and he couldn’t remember his father. Maybe he and Darcy shared a similar history; maybe Bucky’s dad had also skipped out.

“You talk to them much?”

“My mom got remarried my freshman year of college and Kyle’s fine, but she’s kinda got her own thing going on,” Darcy told him. “We do the phone and holidays, but it’s hard sharing my life when most of it is supposed to be secret.”

“What about your brother?”

Her eyes dropped to the table and she took an extra big bite of pizza. “He died in 2008,” she muttered through a full mouth. “He was stationed in Afghanistan, his convoy was ambushed. It was pretty fucking brutal.”

The attempt at nonchalance was easy to see through. Bucky could hear the bite behind every word. A special kind of anger that shoved itself behind any sort of unfair loss and forcibly reared its ugly head from time to time. He recognized it all too well. He had to punch it down every single day of his new life.

“Hey, hey,” Darcy called, switching gears. “No sad stuff, right? We’re supposed to be taking a break from the serious stuff.”

Bucky offered her a small smile. “That’s right.”

Darcy waived at their waitress. “Another round!”

.

.

.

.

.

It had been a while since Darcy had consumed alcohol. She’d have a drink or three at her once a month pizza and beer night with Tony on the rooftop. Those were friendly beers, sipped slow and combined with lots of grease and cheese. Nice, friendly beers that didn’t get her smashed. Darcy’s plan had been to share a few friendly beers with Bucky that night, loosen them both up, and have a little fun. It was a good plan. A great plan.

It was the shots of whiskey in between the beers that sent all her plans to hell.

Drunk Darcy was a little more stupid and a little more brave than normal. Fortunately, she never erred on the side of belligerent or terribly messy. But she was obnoxious. Even she could admit that the morning after a drunk night, when she had a chance to sober up.

“How are you not even buzzed?” Darcy questioned stumbling a little bit out of the cab. She wrapped two of her arms around Bucky’s and he guided her toward the residential entrance of Stark Tower. Her words slurred just a touch. “Wait, are you and I’m just too drunk to tell?”

“Super soldier serum,” he replied. “Metabolizes everything differently. It’ll take a lot more than six shots and your weight in beer.”

Darcy groaned. “Ugh, how unfortunate.”

Bucky chuckled at her dramatics. “Trying to get me drunk, doll?”

His mouth was curved and his brow notched up in that cheeky way he had that made her stomach flip flop every time she saw it. One cue, she felt a little cartwheel from her insides, more intense than ever. It had to have been the booze making everything seem more intense.

Bucky pulled her forward, her knees feeling a little wobbly. She was regretting the heeled boots just a little, lamenting the fact that the four extra inches barely brought her just past his chin.

“That wasn’t the plan,” Darcy said, in answer to his question. Jarvis bid them good evening as they stepped into the elevator. “The plan was to have fun and forget sadness.”

The elevator doors slid open and Bucky continued to tug her toward her apartment, supporting her as her feet criss-crossed in front of her.

“I did have fun,” he assured her.

“And forget sadness?”

His answer was a despondent chuckle. “There were moments.”

“I’ll take what I can get,” she shrugged, stopping in front of her door. “Wait, a smile! I promised a full-on, beam of sunshine, gigantic smile.”

“Maybe next time.”

“No way,” Darcy held out her hands to stop him. She set her purse down on the hall floor, stepping back, and thinking for a moment. “I will get you to smile, damn it! If it’s the last thing I do!”

She gave a little spin, to punctuate her passionate declaration, only it didn’t go so well. Her dress twirled and her feet seemed to have two separate minds, twisting in different directions. A heel snapped and she yelped, falling forward.

Bucky leapt in front of her, sliding under her before she could hit the ground. She collapsed into his arms, Bucky kneeling on the ground and holding her upright.

“Smooth move, doll,” he said. “If I smile will you quit trying to break an ankle?”

She scrunched her nose at him, the action making her very aware of just how close their faces were. Her arms dangled over his shoulders, her chest pressed up against his, each breath she drew bringing them closer. Bucky’s fingers flexed at her sides, moving against her ribcage. She felt hot all of a sudden, wishing she wasn’t wearing such a bulky sweater, wanting to feel his grip on her. His warm breath caressed her chin and her eyes dropped to his lips.

Darcy knew she wasn’t thinking straight. She wasn’t thinking about anything, really. Her brain had fogged over from alcohol and feelings that had been dancing at the outskirts of her brain. Feelings that had taken center stage the moment “Barnes” and “date” were put together in the same sentence. Before she realized it she was leaning in and tentatively brushed her lips against his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW! I DID THE THING! THE CLIFF-KISS!!
> 
> I love writing the cliff-kiss though! I can't help myself!
> 
> Fun fact: The bar they visit is based on a bar here in my lovely city of Chicago. The PB&J is a real menu item, I love it! It's my favorite! I regularly order PBR's and Jameson shots when I go out. If you're off age and like whiskey, I recommend it!


	11. Part X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being patient guys! I know it's been a long wait between updates. I was very busy with the holidays and then I travelled. I'm actually at the airport right this second waiting to get on a plane, using air port wifi to update.
> 
> A little bit of a shorter chapter, because I wanted to get it out to you all. Hope everyone enjoyed their holidays! See you in 2016!!! :)
> 
> *please excuse any errors, unbetaed chapter*

Darcy knew she wasn’t thinking straight. She wasn’t thinking about anything, really. Her brain had fogged over from alcohol and feelings that had been tickling the edges of her brain. Feelings that had taken center stage the moment “Barnes” and “date” were put together in the same sentence. Before she realized it she was leaning in and tentatively brushed her lips against his.

It was probably a good thing that the kiss—if she could even call it that—was brief. There wasn’t even time to feel any warmth of his lips or taste any whiskey that may have lingered on his tongue.

Bucky tensed under her hands, she felt his grip tighten, and he was pushing her away at the same time Jane came barreling out of her front door.

“Darcy!” Her best friend yelled. “Where the hell were you?”

Darcy’s bones were nothing more than jelly and her head was an out of control merry-go-round. Thankfully, Bucky was pulling her up and twisting her around to face the furious scientist.

Whatever tirade Jane had planned to unleash was delayed when she noticed Bucky standing in the hallway with Darcy, pushing the stumbling girl upright.

“Sergeant Barnes,” Jane folded her arms over her chest, on guard.

Bucky gave her a curt nod. “Doctor Foster,” he replied. His hand was at the small of Darcy’s back, pushing her forward. Her damn hormones made her want to press into the touch, but she resisted. “I’ll be going.”

Darcy looked over her shoulder at his retreating form, hoping he’d turn back toward her, wishing for just a glimpse of his face. But he didn’t turn back. He didn’t look at her. Instead, he yanked open the door to the stairwell and rushed out, not bothering to wait for the elevator. The door closed with a sharp smack that made her flinch.

Alone again, Jane reestablished her angry pixie self in Darcy’s view. “Where have you been? What was that message you left on my phone? Why haven’t you answered any of my calls or texts?” As Jane bombarded her with questions, Darcy ambled into her apartment, letting her bag and sweater drop to the floor. She chucked her boots off in opposite directions and made a bee line to her kitchen, grabbing the first glass she laid her hands on, and shoving it under the lukewarm tap.

“I was this close to calling S.H.I.E.L.D. and putting them on red alert because I thought something happened to you!” Jane pinched her fingers together up in front of Darcy’s face.

“Like what?” Darcy gasped between gulps of water.

“Like you were kidnapped or found another bomb or something like in California and were dead in an alley somewhere.”

“I appreciate the concern Janey, but I don’t think I’m important enough that any bad guys want to capture or maim little ol’ me.”

Jane rolled her eyes and slapped both hands onto Darcy’s counter. “And now you come home drunk and with—“ The scientist’s lecture came to a screeching halt, her brain finally catching up with the visual data she had acquired about Darcy’s evening in the hallway. “Wait, why was Barnes in the hallway with you and why were you guys on the floor?”

An uncomfortable spikey knot began to form within Darcy’s stomach, rolling around, and poking at her insides.

She groaned, the cotton feel in her mouth subsiding. “We were out.”

“Out? What do you mean out?” The prickly ball was rolling up her throat and Darcy let out a little burp.

“We went out for pizza and beer and some whiskey.” Her stomach did another roll at the mention and memory of whiskey. Darcy tried to swallow the nauseous feeling but that only made it worse.

“What does that mean? Are you friends with him? Since when?”

“Jane…” Darcy warned, her hands gripping the counter.

“Darcy, he’s dangerous. He’s not a stable person. You read the briefing on him when he moved into the tower and the precautions we were supposed to take with him around.”

“Jane…” Darcy tried to be louder, but it was taking a lot of effort, her eyes rolling shut. She barely heard a single question flying from the brunette’s mouth. She wondered how Jane could keep going on and on like that when the floor and wall had just switched places.

“This is just like that time in Punte Antiguo when you brought home that stray cat and swore it was perfectly safe until it went crazy and almost scratched our eyes out in our sleep.”

Finally, Darcy couldn’t take it anymore; Jane’s voice thundering in her ears, the spinning of the room, the spikey feeling pushing against her stomach. She spun around in a fury and yelled, “JANE!”

That caught the older woman’s attention. She clamped her mouth shut, but crossed her arms in defiance. “What?”

Darcy opened her mouth to respond and immediately lunged in the direction of the trashcan, bending over, and heaving the copious amounts of alcohol and half digested pizza she’d consumed directly into it.

.

.

.

.

The sun was offensive. Darcy woke up to blinding orange light and her face stuck to her pillow, drool trailing down the corner of her mouth. With a groan, she fumbled for her glasses, wondering how she managed to get her contacts out last night as she wiped the moisture from her mouth.

A glass of water and two aspirins sat on her bedside table. Darcy stuffed the little pills into her mouth and washed them down. Aside from the headache, she felt okay. All she needed was something starchy and greasy and she’d be set.

Jane was in the kitchen, making coffee and scrolling over her iPad, when Darcy shuffled out of her room.

“Can someone turn off the sun?” she groused.

“Of course, if you want our atmosphere to freeze, resulting in a mass human extinction due to cosmic radiation. Or to interrupt photosynthesis which would kill off all of Earth’s plants and then the animals that eat the plants and then—“

Darcy held up a hand. “Okay, science. Too early for that.”

“No pants today?” Her friend asked.

Darcy looked down and realized she managed underwear and t-shirt, but passed on PJ bottoms.

“Pants are overrated,” she said, taking a seat at the small table in her kitchen. “I threw up last night, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did,” Jane affirmed, passing her a mug of coffee and a spoon.

“On you?”

“No, you made it to the trash.” Darcy breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn’t had an accident like that since her early days of college, when she learned how to hold her liquor…or at least hold it until she made it to a toilet. “Now that you’re sober do you want to explain to me why you left me a panicky message last night that had me freaking out until you showed up half passed out in the arms of The Winter Soldier.”

Darcy cringed, memories of the final moments of her night playing back in her head. She’d kissed Bucky.

Well, it wasn’t exactly a kiss. It was a brush of the lips, a shared breath; it hardly counted as a kiss. Whatever it was, it was so freaking stupid on her part, judging by the way Bucky had frozen and high-tailed it away from her.

She wanted to shrivel into a ball.

But Jane was wondering what the hell had Darcy putting her on house arrest.

“JARVIS found something in Hodges’ tapes,” Darcy explained. “Something that definitely absolves him as a crazed zealot and implies that there is something else going on with that attack.”

Darcy called out to JARVIS and asked him to replay Hodges’ secret message for Jane.

“ _I have been tasked with a grievous mission, by sinister people. I must do what I can to make it right, though I am uncertain anyone will ever discover this recording. Perhaps years from now and it will only serve a purpose to clear my own name, perhaps it is selfish for me to wish that. I wish I could make a different choice, a better choice. But there are those that I care about, their lives are at stake. They will hate me, when they think they know what I have done, but I must protect them._

_If she dies, I cannot regret it. It is not her death they want._

_They are a virus. They will infect and destroy. This is the beginning, to tear the chosen ones asunder._

_This is as much as I can reveal._

_I hope it counts for something, in the eyes of Allah.”_

“Shit,” Jane whispered. Darcy cocked her head to the side, at hearing the odd expletive from her best friend. Jane rarely swore, reserving harsh words only for times when she was particularly frustrated or angry. It had been an interesting day of cussing when Jane first saw the Battle of New York and learning Thor had returned to Earth. Darcy had learned a new phrase or two herself that day.

“What?”

Jane reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out her phone. “Erik called last night and left a really weird voice message, too.”

“ _Hello Jane_!” Erik Selvig’s warm voice played through Jane’s voicemail. “ _I know you’re due out here in a few days for the usual visit, but I’m very busy, so I’m afraid we’ll reschedule this time. I’m very sorry. We’ll speak soon_!”

He’d sounded a more than a little manic as he cancelled the non-existent plans he had with Jane. Darcy knew there wasn’t any visit to London planned any time soon.

Darcy lifted a brow. “Are we going to see Erik without pants on the news again?”

“Something is up,” Jane said.

“What are you thinking in that beautiful, cosmic brain?”

Jane lifted her mug to her lips and took a sip of coffee before answering. “Erik has been researching energy pockets, things that popped up over Europe after the whole thing with the Aether.”

“Okay…”

“They’re like, weird gravitational readers, but also like hot springs. The air around them is warm.”

“That sounds major. How have you not already kicked into reckless scientist mode and put us on a plane to Europe?”

Jane glanced over her shoulder not meeting Darcy’s gaze, like a little kid trying not to make eye contact with a mess she just made on the kitchen floor. Darcy’s eyes narrowed behind her glasses. “Jaaane?”

“Further research may be a point of contention for some…people.”

“You mean Thor?”

“I mean Thor.”

“A little rebellion from your god-prince boyfriend, I like it.” Darcy gave Jane an approving smile, bouncing her brows up and down.

“Stop it,” her friend said rolling her eyes and continued her explanation. “Erik has been checking out the energy fields for me in his spare time.”

“Wait a second,” Darcy held out her hands to stop the explanation. “Do you think the bomb scare had anything to do with—“

“Maybe.”

“Jane!”

“I know!”

“You do not know! You seriously do not know!” Darcy mentally put Jane’s new secret project at the top of her “Reasons for Bad Guys to Kill Jane” list. “Since when am I not in the loop?”

“I’m sorry,” Jane offered. “I’m not trying to keep secrets from you, it’s just Thor and…” She let out a heavy sigh, full of exhaustion. “He gave me this whole man isn’t meant to meddle speech and I told him that Earth needs to know how to protect itself the next time something like the Chitauri or the Dark Elves happen. I mean, who knows what else is out there?”

Darcy laid a hand on her friend’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze, calling Jane’s gaze to her face. “You know I’m with you right? One hundred percent, whatever it is.”

“Thanks,” Jane replied with a half smile. “We need to go see Eric. And we’re gonna have to be sneaky about it. If S.H.I.E.L.D. or Stark finds out…”

“I get it. Super secret science thing.” Darcy had been hanging around scientists long enough to know how secretive they were about research and discovery. She’d also been witness to the way SHEILD and Stark were at each others’ throats, one trying to control the other. “I’ll book flights and we’ll tell anyone who cares it’s just a visit to a friend, just like Erik said.”

A sharp stab nudged itself behind Darcy’s eye and she was reminded of her hangover and more to the point, the reason behind her hangover and her actions the night before. Thankfully, she wouldn’t have to think about it for much longer, she had a distraction and a mission and didn’t need to think about how awkward it would be when she faced Bucky again.

.

.

.

.

.

Bucky spun through the air and hit the floor, his palms smacking down with a resounding crack. A small puff of white dust shuddered around his body when he landed. His face was streaked with sweat, hair matted around his forehead and cheeks. With a grunt he heaved himself off the floor and faced Steve again, hands at the ready.

Months ago, he never would have asked Steve to spar with him, he wouldn’t have trusted himself. Thanks to the weeks of therapy, the control he’d learned, and the distance from Hydra, he could rely on his limits. If he was eventually going to be one of Steve’s teammates, he had to learn. When they stood beside each other on the battlefield, he couldn’t get confused. So they sparred from time to time, to practice, to blow off steam…Bucky certainly needed the latter that morning.

“Getting slow, Barnes,” Steve goaded playfully, after besting him for the third time in a row.

“You’re such a punk,” Bucky shot back, raising his fists. “Again.”

Both men were sweaty, but barely winded. Bucky’s muscles flexed freely, his arm fully visible in just a sleeveless shirt.

“Buck,” Steve chided. “We’ve been at it since dawn.” The usual marks of concern outlined Steve’s blue eyes and he knew his friend could sense his anxiety. Bucky conceded the request for a break with a nod and followed Steve out of the boxing ring. He grabbed a towel and bottle of water, throwing the second over to his friend. “Everything, okay?”

“As much as it ever is,” Bucky replied, taking a swig of water.

“Are you worried about facing Stark?”

Bucky took another gulp, wishing that _were_ his problem. Coming face to face with Stark should be on his mind, thanks to the recovered Hydra intel. The guilt of what he’d done to his parents should be at the forefront of his mind. In spite of more important matters, he couldn’t get a certain loud brunette out of his head, or the brief static-spark feel left by her soft, pouty lips.

A memory flashed in his mind: a girl in a blue dress, twirling under his arm, laughing when he spun her close and dipped her to the floor. Bucky Barnes used to be good at that. Women. He was a flirt; easy on the eyes he was told, always quirk a smirk and witty comeback. He remembered trying to double with Steve, always finding a girl, who had a friend.

Girls didn’t always like Steve. Some of them were outright rude, others attempted to be kind, but held themselves at a distance until another dance partner snatched them up.

He recalled a bar in Europe and another brunette in a red dress. He’d tried to flirt, out of habit, but she’d only had eyes for his friend then. He’d been…invisible. It had shaken him, but he was glad to see a woman finally recognizing his friend.

“What?” Steve asked. He must have zoned out.

“You ever date?”

Steve blinked a couple of times, clearly thrown by the topic of conversation. “Uh, not really.”

“Not really? That’s not a no…”

“It’s not like I really have the time,” Steve answered.

“So, nobody, since the 40s?”

“One or two girls and Natasha likes to play matchmaker,” Steve replied. Bucky quirked a brow and Steve rolled his eyes. “I’m not dead, ya know?”

“I’m proud. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I remember a time when Steve Rogers wasn’t too great with gals.”

Steve chuckled. “I’m still not great with gals, unless…”

“Unless…”

“Fangirls don’t really care what you say or do,” Steve said. “Celebrity helps as much as it hurts sometimes.”

The Avengers were somewhat of a growing commodity in America. From interviews, to merchandising, to fame and fortune being thrown at their feet, Steve was a well-known face. His celebrity status was different than it had been as a mere poster boy for U.S. Army in the 40s. Bucky could recall a few USO girls throwing themselves in his direction, but of course, Steve only had eyes for Carter back then.

The stories Steve told now, about women wanting to bed him because he was a superhero and an Avenger, were insane.

Through their conversation, Steve had managed to move them out of the gym, and back to his apartment for breakfast. After the long workout, Bucky realized he was starving. He hadn’t had anything since the pizza with Darcy.

Darcy.

The tiny thought set his mind ablaze again.

“I don’t know,” Steve sighed, trailing off from his dating stories into more serious territory. “I just don’t think it’s in the cards.”

Bucky frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Dating, relationships, love…there’s not really room for it in this world.”

Bucky didn’t know if he meant the modern world or _their_ world, the world of war and fighting and secrecy and danger. He recalled Steve’s affection for Carter and Bucky—another version of him—egging Steve on to make a move. He remembered hushed talks in brown tents, surrounded by low light between their sleeping bags. Steve dreaming of going home after the war, he and Bucky having sons, knowing they would be best friends. Steve sometimes wondering if the serum would effect that dream of family and children.

_Between you and Peggy? You’ll have a whole litter of big mouth brats who don’t know how to walk away from a fight. For once, you’ll know what it’s like to be me._

Steve’s hand clapped down on his shoulder, bringing him out of the trenches of misty memories and back to the present.

"Look if you’re worried about…don’t. Family, relationships, all that…it’s just not something I worry about anymore.” Bucky frowned. As much as he had changed, he was starting to see the changes in Steve as well. Not that he had a complete idea of who they both were before, but sometimes when he looked at his friend, he saw shadows where he’d once seen light.

“We’ll always have each other, you know that right?”

Bucky’s lip twitched. “Yeah, of course. ‘Til the end of the line.”

Steve smiled and went back to his coffee asking him how many eggs he wanted with his breakfast. Bucky didn’t feel so hungry anymore.

Maybe Steve was hung up on loosing Carter; maybe he was hung up in the never-ending war they seemed to be fighting. At any rate, if a guy like Steve couldn’t make something work, what hope did Bucky have? He tried to picture it. A girl in his arms, someone to come home to, someone to share his life with, and all he came up with was blackness. The vision just didn’t work. It was just another bit of him that Hydra had taken and he would be incapable of recovering.

He knew he had to talk to confront Darcy. They’re friendship already required so many rules, much to her chagrin, and he hated to add more. But he’d have to tell her, he wasn’t capable of more, and if that disappointed her enough that she had to retreat, then that was something he would have to deal with, even if the thought of not having Darcy as his friend made him feel sick.

“What time is it?” Steve asked aloud, twisting to grab his phone and check the time. “I’ve got to get down to the labs and meet Dr. Foster and deliver some bad news.”

“What’s going on?”

Steve sighed, his fork clinking against his plate. “Foster is on lock down. S.H.I.E.L.D. orders.”

“Foster doesn’t work for S.H.I.E.L.D. I thought she worked for Stark.”

“Foster works for Foster. She pretends to work for Stark, she _tolerates_ S.H.I.E.L.D., because she doesn’t have a choice. Truthfully, they can come down on her and requisition her and her research at anytime and there wouldn’t be a thing she could do to stop it.”

Darcy had told Bucky about New Mexico, when Thor had dropped into their lives and subsequently, S.H.I.E.L.D.

“More threats against her have come down the wire. They think it’s better if she stays where it’s safe and I can’t say I disagree.”

Bucky tensed. “What about Darcy?”

“None of the other members of the team have come up. Not Selvig or Lewis or the other intern they had in London. I can’t remember his name.”

“You think she’ll take it quietly?”

Steve let out a sharp laugh. “Judging by some stories Thor has told, not a chance.”

Bucky remembered the way Foster had bulked when he and Steve had shown up to be their watch dogs on their trip to California. He certainly didn’t envy that conversation with the scientist. However, he was willing to trade, to avoid the conversation he'd have with Darcy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews/comments are very lovely and I do love reading/responding to them! *wink nudge*
> 
> follow me on tumblr at hybridlovelies


	12. Part XI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi it's me Hybridlovelies! Yes I've changed my name!
> 
> I talked about why a little bit on my tumblr, so if you wanna know go there. But I'm "marvelouskatie" across the board now, so if you're trying to find me on tumblr, FF, twitter, wherever...that's me!
> 
> Thank you Ashley for helping to beta this!
> 
> Also please excuse my not amazing grasp of science and physics :)

**PART XI**

A sharp, feminine shout came from Jane’s tiny office. Darcy leaned her body over, trying to get a look at Jane and Steve. One of the lab rats passing by in the hallway poked her head into the door, with a questioning look. Darcy winced at the scientist.

“Everything’s fine,” she chuckled, pushing the woman out and shutting the door to their main lab.

When Darcy saw Captain America’s bulky frame darkening their lab doorway that morning, her brain immediately went to Bucky. Clearly, the Captain was there to give her a stern lecture about keeping it in her pants and not trying to kiss his mentally unstable, but hot and amazing friend.

She breathed a sigh of relief when he offered her a hello and asked where Jane was, passing her when she pointed in the direction of her boss’s office.

Through the tiny window, Darcy could see Jane’s red face, as she argued with the Captain, whose head was shaking back and forth. His arms were crossed over his chest and Darcy could see that whatever they were at odds about, Rogers wasn’t going to budge. A few more minutes of muffled arguing passed, before Rogers turned and opened the door.

Jane rushed out after him. “I’m not done, Captain Rogers.”

“I am,” the man said, rounding on her friend. Jane was about a third of his size, but she didn’t back down. “This matter isn’t up for discussion. You’re confined to the tower for your own safety on orders of S.H.I.E.L.D., orders that at this juncture, I don’t disagree with.”

“House arrest?” Darcy exclaimed, quickly catching up with what the two had been yelling about.

Rogers silenced her with a stern look, warning her to not get involved with the argument. Darcy snapped her lips shut, knowing that if Jane wasn’t convincing him, her added insubordinance probably wouldn’t help. He turned back to Jane.

“I’ll let you know when the confinement has been lifted.”

“Yeah, thanks a lot.”

Jane followed him to the door and slammed it behind him with all her strength, turning around and letting out an angry exhale.

“Okay, spill. Why are we on house arrest?”

“Because,” Jane said. “There have been more threats that have fallen onto S.H.I.E.L.D.’s radar regarding my life. They think it’s ‘wise’ if I stay within the safety of the tower ,until their agents can assess what is real and what is just crazy people talking out of their asses.”

“But we don’t work for SHIELD.”

“No shit,” Jane snapped. Darcy pressed her lips together at yet another harsh word spilling from her friend’s lips. “That doesn’t mean that it stops them from barging in and taking over. Just like in New Mexico.” Jane dropped into the lab stool across from Darcy, her heading falling into her hands. “Maybe living here was a mistake.”

“The lab equipment is pretty sweet, though.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know if it’s worth giving up our personal freedom.”

Darcy winced. “I think personal freedom has been an illusion for you and I since a certain god dropped out of a weird cloud and you hit him with your car.”

It was a terrifying truth that Darcy tried her best not to think about, but she wasn’t naïve to the fact that S.H.I.E.L.D. could intervene in their lives at any moment.

“We have to see Erik, he’s still not answering my calls. Everything just goes to voicemail,” Jane lowered her voice.

Darcy agreed. House arrest was going to make things more difficult but not impossible. Captain Rogers would know they were gone only after they had left. “Leave it to me,” Darcy grinned. “Sneaking out of the house after your parents grounded you happens to be one of my specialties.”

.

.

.

.

.

Darcy knew that S.H.I.E.L.D. would be thorough.  She was no super hero spy assassin, but she had learned a thing or two about covering her tracks. First thing first, was to set a false trail.

She had Jane gave it an hour, just to be safe, and started looking up flights to alternate locations. Jane checked out New Mexico and Darcy went for Virginia. They debated each buying a ticket to New Mexico and Virginia, but decided their bank accounts couldn’t take the hit, considering they’d both be purchasing extremely last minute tickets to London.

The biggest question about it all remained.

“How are we getting past--” Jane circled her finger in the air to signal JARVIS.

Even if the omniscient AI didn’t have his computer-y gaze locked on the two of them at all times, he was certainly keeping a vigilant eye on every security camera by the exits.

“Leave it to me,” Darcy assured her. “Lucky for us, Stark likes to brag. A lot. Especially when he’s full of beer. Meet in the stairwell, between floors, midnight.”

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Bucky smirked at Steve’s report of Foster’s reaction to her house arrest. It went about as well as could be expected. After everything Darcy had told him about Jane not wanting to be S.H.I.E.L.D.’s scientific prisoner, he was sure this would push her over the edge.

Stark wasn’t any happier with the news when he arrived at the tower and Steve filled him in.

“Since when does S.H.I.E.L.D. have a say over when my employees can or can’t leave the place where they live and work? Last time I checked, this is a free country.”

The three men walked down the hallway together, toward Tony’s workshop. Steve offered to be present as Tony worked on Bucky’s arm that evening and Bucky didn’t decline. He still felt an awkwardness at being near Stark.

Steve let out a tired breath. “Whether or not Dr. Foster is your employee, she’s still a valuable asset to S.H.I.E.L.D. Her life is in danger and it’s our job to protect it.”

“Did you even think about this Steve? Or are you just bending over and taking orders?”

“Hey!” Steve snapped back. “In case you forgot, she’s also someone important to someone we call a friend, doesn’t that also grant her some degree of protection. What if it were Pepper? Wouldn’t you want me to do anything I could to keep her safe if you weren’t around?”

Tony rolled his tongue over his teeth. “Alright, you win, caveman. I mean, Captain.” Bucky smirked at Stark’s jab as the elevator carried them to Stark’s floor. Instead of the main labs, Stark insisted on examining Bucky in his own workshop. Bucky wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be flattered or not, but Stark seemed to think it was some kind of honor.

“What about Lewis? Is she grounded, too?”

“Her name hasn’t come up on any of the threats, so no one specified. I figured she goes were Foster goes, so it was implied.”

“Well, if there is no official order, I’m busting her out of jail tonight. Pep’s birthday is coming up and I’m enlisting her party planning assistance. Also, gift shopping. I’m terrible at getting things for other people.”

“That’s not a shock,” Steve muttered under his breath as the elevator doors slid open.

The three men walked down the short hallway and around the corner to the workshop, stopping when they saw an unexpected presence hovering between the robots and tools.

Tony was the first to step forward.

“Hey Lewis, ears burning?”

Bucky watched Darcy spin around, her expression wide with surprise as she took in each of them. His breath caught when her gaze landed on his and quickly flicked away, back to Tony.

“What are you doing here?”

“What are _you_ doing here? In my workshop?” Tony looked at her over the sunglasses he had yet to remove since entering the building.

“Stealing tools?” Darcy answered with a saccharine smile. “Some of Jane’s homemade equipment need some tune ups. Duct-tape ain’t cuttin’ it this time.”

Tony walked around the large table and removed his jacket and glasses. “State of the art facility and she’s still using that junk?”

“Don’t let her catch you saying that.”

The banter stalled and Darcy’s eyes slid back in the direction of Bucky and Steve. She smiled politely at the two of them. “Um, I guess I’ll go now.”

“Hey, plans tonight? I’ve got a very important mission with your name on it. That also includes a steak dinner.”

Darcy patted her stomach. “Oh man, you know how I love red meat, but I can’t. I’m super, hungover and working late and I…just…can’t. Sorry. Maybe tomorrow.”

“I’m free tonight. I’m a slave to the technological summit.”

“Sorry, T-man. Next time.” She passed another unreadbale glance at Bucky and then ducked out of the workshop.

Tony pointed in the her vacant direction. “That girl is hiding something. I’ve never known her to pass up a free meal.”

“She didn’t take any tools,” Bucky added, both men cocked their heads at him. “She said she was here to steal tools, but she didn’t take any with her.”

Tony’s mouth curved. “Excellent observation my dear, Bucky. JARVIS?”

“Yes sir?”

“What did our lovely Miss Lewis take from the shop?”

“I believe Miss Lewis commandeered the Calypso, Mark II. The devices that you mentioned to her during your last visit.”

“Me and my drunken brags.”

“What’s the Calypso?” Steve asked.

Tony gestured Bucky toward the stool in front of him. “Some new tech I’ve been working on for the team. It’s still in its testing phase.”

“Sir, I should also note that S.H.I.E.L.D. has recently flagged both Dr. Foster’s and Miss Lewis’s computers and have made note of travel searches to both New Mexico and Virginia.”

Tony smirked at Steve over his shoulder. “Sounds like your charges are flight risks.”

“This Calypso thing, should we maybe go get it back?”

Tony pulled a grin that would impress even the god of mischief. “I think not. Darcy can be our new test subject.”

“Is it dangerous?” Bucky asked, propped his arm up for Tony to see.

“Depends on how you use it,” Tony replied. Bucky scowled. “She’ll be fine. JARVIS? Keep an eye on her. Let us know when the show begins.”

.

.

.

.

.

Steve’s day wasn’t getting much better. Between Foster’s arguing, S.H.I.E.L.D. breathing down his neck, and Stark’s taunts he was in no mood. Tony refused to tell him anything more about Calypso and Steve tried to brush it off with the fact that whatever it was, he would know soon enough. He trusted the man to not put the young assistant in harm’s way with unsanctioned technology. He seemed to have a soft spot for the girl.

He was brooding on his couch, trying and failing to focus on one of the films from his long list of pop-culture catch ups, when a knock interrupted.

Natasha stood in his doorway, in her usual black attire, having just returned from Washington and a monthly debrief with S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ.

“Hey Cap, long day?”

Steve sighed. He’d dealt with Nazi soldiers, Red Skull, Zola, and countless other monsters and enemies, but dealing with wrathful women always remained his least favorite of adversaries.

“Why do I feel like it’s about to get longer?”

Natasha snorted and walked into the apartment. She had the tendency to occupy any space as if it belonged to her, heading straight to his kitchen and opening his fridge. The redhead chose a beer and popped it open.

“Help yourself,” Steve remarked. “How was Washington?”

“The usual,” Natasha replied. “Still no sign of Fury, Pierce claims he’s doing everything he can to find the people who murdered him.”

“He’s officially dead?”

Natasha’s eyes darkened a shade. Fury had been somewhat of a father figure to her. Though she did a fairly decent job of hiding it, Steve could see that their director’s MIA status weighed on her.

“Not officially,” she replied. “And in this line of work, if I don’t see a body, then I don’t count anyone as gone. Even then, it’s sometimes up for debate.” She took a large swig of the beer and set it down. “We’ve got other problems to worry about.”

“What problems?”

“Bucky.”

Steve tensed. “What about him?”

“Pierce wants him to report. If he’s going to be a part of the team, taking assignments, then the guys at the top want to know who they’re dealing with.”

Steve’s brows knit together. “Why wasn’t it discussed with me?”

“It’s personal for you, Steve. They know you’re not going to hand over your friend.”

His ears hung on to her choice of words. _Turn him over_. “What are you trying to say Natasha?”

“I’m saying that I was ordered to bring The Winter Soldier to Washington for a debrief. He’s technically an enemy of the state. He’s wanted for war crimes.”

Steve clenched his fist to keep himself from slamming it into the marble counter top. “Bucky was brainwashed by Hydra, he wasn’t himself! He can’t be blamed—“

“Cool it, you don’t have to give me the speech,” Natasha said. “I can only stall for so long. Plus, they had their eyes on the Samaritan. I needed something to deflect.”

Steve cursed. “So you decided to distract them with my friend to save your own?”

The cool and careless lift of her shoulder made him want to throw her through the wall. “I did what I had to do to protect my friend. Sorry Cap, but this time, mine trumped yours. You’ll do what you need to to protect Bucky. My advice, stall for as long as you can. You’ll think of something.”

“And if I escort him to Washington myself?”

Natasha paused, licking her lips before she responded. “I wouldn’t.”

He examined her again, noticing again the shadows under her eyes, the hint of secrets between her words. He was never good at duplicity and she always made a point to tell him so. But Natasha wanted him to figure something out. She was letting him see the chinks in her armor for a reason.

Would there ever be a time in their lives when she would be direct with him?

“Captain Rogers, Agent Romanoff,” Jarvis’s voice came through the speakers above. “I apologize for the interruption. Mr. Stark has asked me to alert you that the ‘show is about to begin.’”

Steve’s eyes flicked to the clock on the wall. It was 11:55pm.

Natasha’s brow flicked up. “Show?”

“Tony’s been about as direct as you have today,” he grumbled. “Come on, whatever it is, I’m sure it’s something you’ll want to see, too.”

Intrigued, Natasha finished her beer and followed him out of the apartment.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Still no sign of Jane at 12:02 am. It was a good thing their escape plan wasn’t time sensitive. Darcy let out an irritated breath, remembering her friend’s difficulty with punctuality. She shifted the backpack on her shoulders, thinking she should have told her to meet at 11:45, then she would have actually been there at midnight.

It had been a struggle for Darcy to fit her possessions in a small backpack. Considering that they were sneaking out, they couldn’t exactly carry a bunch of suitcases with them. Darcy wasn’t sure what she would need when they reached London. Nerves seized her, as she realized she wasn’t even sure what they would find in London.

Would Erik be there? Would he be okay? Would he be having another crazy relapse or worse, would some new enemy reveal themselves, having kidnapped their friend?

Her nerves, naturally, made her think of Bucky. It felt a little anti-feminist to wish for some extra protection from some dude—especially since she could more than handle herself—but another part of her told her it would just be practical.

Her mind flipped back to just twenty four hours before. She and Bucky had been at the bar, she’d been on maybe her fourth shot of the night. They’d been laughing together. Then she’d tried to kiss him.

_Ugh._

She wished she’d gotten a chance to talk to him before she left. She wasn’t sure how long she’d be gone and wasn’t sure where they stood. It was difficult to get a read on him for the brief few minutes they had crossed paths in Tony’s workshop, and at the time she was a little distracted by trying to explain why she’d been caught where she wasn’t supposed to be.

The door to the stairwell squeaked open at 12:06 and Jane appeared, a small messenger bag hanging off her. Jane of course, always travelled light. She tended to outfit repeat.

Darcy mimicked pointing to a watch that she didn’t wear. “Um, hello? I said midnight.”

“Sorry, sneaking around isn’t really my forte,” Jane explained. “What are you wearing?”

Jane was in her usual flannel, t-shirt, and jeans. Darcy however, was dressed head-to-toe in black. Black leggings, black long sleeve t-shirt, and black beanie covering a practical French braid.

Darcy pushed at her frames. “I was going for stealth.”

“Didn’t you say Tony’s devices would make us invisible anyways?”

At that moment, Darcy reached into the front pocket of her bag and pulled out two wristband looking device. Each one was silver, about an inch thick, with a green button in the center.

Tony had explained his Calypso project to her drunkenly one night. Darcy wasn’t great at the science or tech speak, but the idea behind it was, once activated, the device would deflect particles of light away from the wearer. If something isn’t reflecting light, then it couldn’t be seen.

Darcy tried to get him to rename it to something referencing the invisibility cloak from Harry Potter. He said he would save that for when he figured out how to make a device that didn’t only hide someone’s image from a camera, but also in real life.

“Give me your wrist,” Darcy said to Jane, slapping one of the Calypso bands around her friends tiny arm. “Green means ready, blue means activated.”

“This isn’t going to blow me up if I press it?” Jane asked.

“I’m not sure. Why do you think I’m making you go first?”

Darcy smirked and Jane gave her a little shove. With a deep breath, she stood back and pressed her finger against the green button. It turned blue.

“Feel anything?”

“It sort of tingles,” Jane answered.

“Now let’s see if it works,” Darcy pulled her cell out of her pack and held the camera up towards Jane. “Whoa. Holy shit. You’re like a ghost.”

With her eyes, Darcy could see Jane plain as day, but with the camera view Jane was completely nonexistent.

Darcy put on her device and Jane performed a similar test to make sure it worked.

“Okay, so remember the escape plan?” Jane nodded. “Let’s go.”

The two women split up. Knowing that someone possibly saw them on security cameras, and could follow the random opening and closing of doors, they each took a separate path, doubling back to confuse anyone attempting to track them.

Darcy followed her preplanned map on her phone, knowing that the entire journey would take about ten minutes. She would meet Jane downstairs near a fire exit and would make their final escape.

She hiked up five floors of the stairs, cursing herself for forcing so much exercise into the plan. It was the last leg of her journey. A sprint across her apartment’s floor, into the elevator, and down all the way to the garage level before she ran to meet Jane.

Darcy gripped the door handle of the stairwell when she paused, peering through the window, seeing Bucky standing at her apartment door. His arms were braced on either side of the doorframe, his lips moving.

Regret and embarrassment warred within her again as she watched him. A few minutes later, he gave up, and Darcy jumped when she realized he was headed in her direction.

Breathless, she moved to the next stairwell, hoping that he was just going up to his apartment. She held her breath as she listened to the door open and closed her eyes in relief when she heard his footsteps move up, rather than down. When the second door closed, she made her move.

She’d lost time and Jane would be wondering where she was, hopefully, she was well hidden in the garage.

Darcy tapped her foot impatiently as the elevator descended, at last announcing the garage level.

Making up for lost time, she sprinted around the corner, hoping Jane was there, hoping that she got out without running into anyone. She wanted to yell but couldn’t risk it.

She rounded the corner of another level, knowing she was feet away from freedom and stopped short when she saw Jane.

Only Jane wasn’t alone.

Jane was flanked by a smirking Tony Stark, a stone faced Natasha Romanoff, an irritated looking Steve Rogers, and of course, Bucky.

.

.

.

.

.

        Darcy and Dr. Foster sat on one side of a large conference table, while Steve glared down at them, arms crossed. Bucky stood on one of the table, allowing himself a good vantage point for both parties. Romanoff positioned herself behind the two women, her stance on guard, like they were any other hostile prisoner that might make a dash for the door.

        Stark retrieved his stolen tech from Darcy, thanking her for testing it out, not bothering to hide his proud grin. Steve of course, reprimanded the billionaire’s praise with a sharp look. The implied compliment was going to dampen the seriousness of the tongue-lashing they were about to receive.

        Both Darcy and Dr. Foster look annoyed and perturbed at being caught, the latter once again arguing that the house arrest was ridiculous and overprotective.

        “Since neither of you are teenage girls,” they might not be teenage girls, but Steve certainly sounded like an irritated father. “I’m going to assume that there was a good reason for all this sneaking around, and not just simple rebellion.”

        Bucky’s sharp eye caught the look that passed between the two female friends. They were hiding something and debating on if they should come clean. It was Darcy who ended up taking the lead.

        “We got a message from Erik that was weird.”

        “Erik Selvig?” Steve asked, Darcy nodded. “What kind of message?”

        Darcy looked to Foster and the older woman slid her phone from the pocket of her jeans. She tapped her fingers on the screen and pulled up the voicemail

“ _Hello Jane_ ! _I know you’re due out here in a few days for the usual visit, but I’m very busy, so I’m afraid we’ll reschedule this time. I’m very sorry. We’ll speak soon_!”

Steve stared at the phone and Bucky watch his face trying to figure out what was so weird about the message.

“I don’t understand,” Romanoff admitted.

“We didn’t have plans to visit him any time soon,” Darcy explained. “Yet he called to cancel and imaginary plan we had to visit.”

“We haven’t been able to get ahold of him, either,” Jane added. “We were going to check on him.”

Steve’s eyes finally flicked away from the phone. “Did it occur to you that he could be in some kind of danger and trying to warn you off?”

“Yes,” Darcy answered, without remorse or fear.

Steve bit down on his lip, a gesture that Bucky recognized as his friend trying not to lose his temper. He moved closer to Steve’s side of the table, hovering behind his shoulder. “Did it also occur to you that perhaps you should have one of the agents or myself check in on the matter?”

It was Jane who answered this time. “Erik doesn’t want to be involved with S.H.I.E.L.D. any longer. I’m not sending one of their agents knocking on his door.”

“If his safety is on the line—“

“It could be nothing,” Darcy interjected. “He could just be having another bout of PTSD.”

Bucky saw another look pass between the women. There was still something else they weren’t saying. Another reason why they undertook the task of checking on their friend’s safety without getting any of them involved. It was reckless and stupid and while Bucky didn’t doubt that Darcy was the first of those things, she definitely wasn’t the second.

        “I’ll go,” Bucky heard himself say before he’d even fully made the decision. “I’ll go to London and check on Dr. Selvig. I’m not an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. He won’t recognize me as one.”

“Buck--”

“That’s perfect,” Romanoff remarked, ignoring Steve’s reprimanding look. “Steve, you need a reason to keep S.H.I.E.L.D. away from Bucky. We can report that he went out on assignment this evening and won’t be back for at least a week. It will buy you both some time.”

Bucky turned a questioning look in Steve’s direction. His friend looked guilty. “Didn’t get a chance to fill you in yet, but S.H.I.E.L.D. wants you to report in.”

His nostrils flared. “I don’t belong to S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“I’m not saying you do. I—“

“Maybe you two can have your tiff a little later,” Stark interjected from the opposite end of the table where he’d been silent for the past ten minutes. He nodded his head at the women sitting across from them.

Both Bucky and Steve fell back.

“Lewis can go with him to London,” Natasha said again.

Darcy shouted “yes” and the same time Steve responded with “absolutely not.”

“It makes sense,” Romanoff continued. “She’s familiar with Selvig. She’s someone he trusts. If she shows up, we’re more likely to figure out the meaning behind the message and if he really is in danger. If Selvig is fine, he’s not likely to open his door to someone looking like Barnes. No offense.” She turned her attention to Darcy, placing her hand on the back of Darcy’s chair. “If he’s in London, you’ll have to approach him. It’s possible that he could have been coerced into a trap to lure Dr. Foster to London.”

Darcy gulped. “A trap?”

“Now do you understand why it was stupid of you to try and do this on your own?” Stark chimed in.

Darcy scowled at him, crossing her arms over her chest. “Yes, dad.”

Bucky saw Tony cringe. “Please don’t ever call me that again.”

“I don’t like the idea of sending a civilian into a possibly hostile situation,” Steve argued.

“I can look out for her,” Bucky said. He didn’t particularly want to drag her into a dangerous situation, either. But Romanoff was right. He’d never get to Selvig the way she or Jane could. From afar he would be able to determine his safety, but only up close would they be one-hundred percent sure that he wasn’t under enemy control. There was some hidden message in Selvig’s warning and just getting a visual on the man wouldn’t explain much.

“Then it’s settled,” Natasha concluded. “You two will take one of the Quinjets to London tonight. I’ll report in to S.H.I.E.L.D. that Sergeant Barnes is on an assignment and it will be a few days before he can report in.”

Bucky still bulked at the idea of reporting to the agency, but he and Steve could figure that out later. For now, he had a mission.

Without further debate, Romanoff offered to escort Jane back to her quarters. Darcy left with them, mentioning packing a real bag, and Tony followed them all out.

“What’s the point in being the leader, when no one listens to what I say?” Steve muttered.

Bucky turned to his friend. “What does S.H.I.E.L.D. want with me?”

“I’m not sure.”

“You’re a bad liar, punk.”

“Jerk,” Steve replied, with a small grin. “Natasha says Pierce wants to meet you.”

Bucky knew the name Alexander Pierce, mentioned by Steve a few times. The man had become the head of S.H.I.E.L.D. since Bucky tried to assassinate Fury he’d disappeared.

“Does this have to do with the intel The Samaritan recovered and my involvement with Fury’s disappearance?”

Steve shook his head. “I don’t think they’ve been privy to the information from the Samaritan. Natasha…she doesn’t say much. Well, she does, but she makes you figure it out for yourself.”

“And Fury?”

“You don’t remember your orders or who gave them. Pierce knows that. There isn’t much left to discuss.” Bucky wanted to argue but held back. Steve wasn’t that naive that he would believe his involvement with Fury’s death or disappearance went away because Captain America chose to sweep it under the rug. Steve stood and carefully pushed in the chair he’d been using. “Are you sure about this mission?”

“I’m sure,” Bucky replied. “And like you said. It will keep S.H.I.E.L.D. off both our backs for the time being, without it looking like I’m going AWOL.”

Steve nodded. “Take care of yourself.”

“You too,” Bucky returned.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Forty minutes after Darcy had left the conference room, Natasha showed up at her front door.

“Did Captain America change his mind? Did he send his best assassin here to kill me for stepping out of line?” Darcy was only half joking.

The red head’s mouth twitched. “Not this time. I came to walk you to the launch pad.”

“Cool, let me just get my bag.”

Darcy noticed that Natasha used the word “walk” instead of “escort” which seemed a lot more friendly to her. She mentally patted herself on the back for noticing the small detail. She had the Black Widow weren’t the best of friends--they didn’t get together for slumber parties or to paint each other’s toe nails--but Darcy always liked the brief interactions she had with the woman. Natasha seemed like she needed some female companionship and Darcy was happy to oblige.

The duffle Darcy carried was larger than the bookbag she’d previously packed, but still small enough to be sensible and quick to grab. Natasha looked at it with approval and held the door for her as they walked out of her apartment.

“I never got to say thank you for what you did for Clint,” Natasha began as they walked together. “You saved a life, you know.”

Darcy felt heat rise to her cheeks. She wasn’t so great with compliments. “It was sort of by lucky coincidence.”

“I don’t believe in coincidence,” Natasha replied.

“What about luck?”

“Luck has kept me alive more than a few times,” she grinned, memories flitting over her features, before she became serious again. “The Samaritan told me what was in those files, that was brave of you to face the truth about Barnes.”

“Bucky is my friend.”

It felt weird to state what felt like the obvious and the confused look Natasha passed on to Darcy was equally as weird.

The lift stopped and opened on the launch pad level. The Quinjet set at the end of the thrust floor of the level, a team of engineers making final checks. Bucky saw them and walked over. He wore civilian clothes, which made Darcy feel a little silly still dressed her her fake tactical gear.

The worst part was the look on his face. If she thought Steve had looked angry, Bucky could level a building with the amount of anger he was throwing in her direction. She had to fight not to flinch, when he reach toward her, then she realized he was going for the strap on her shoulder.

“I’ll load this up for you,” he clipped, taking the bag and striding away to the plane.

“Er--thanks.” Natasha snorted at her side. “What?”

“Nothing, I just remember something,” she reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out a small, slim box. “This is from Clint. He wanted you to have it as a thank you.”

Darcy took the box. “What is it?”

“I’m not sure. He said to tell you that when things get tough, it will always lead you home.”

That was cryptic. Darcy shrugged and folded it into her palm. “Is it weird giving secret presents from your boyfriend to other women?”

One of Natasha’s brows flicked up. “Caught that, huh?”

“Kinda hard to miss.”

“It’s not a secret, but we don’t like to advertise.”

“I get it,” Darcy replied.

“I bet you do,” Natasha replied. Darcy followed the woman’s gaze over her shoulder, to where Bucky was standing on the ramp, waiting for her. “Be safe, Lewis.”

Darcy smirked at the spy’s cryptic reply and jogged to the ramp to board the Quinjet.

She strapped herself into the co-pilot seat, not that she was going to be much help and watched Bucky flip switches and twist knobs as the plane lifted off the launch pad and disappear into the cloudy night sky over Manhattan.

As the wings of the plane whirled outside, she took out the box and opened up Clint’s gift. Inside was a strap, big enough for her wrist, and Darcy realized it was a bracelet. The leather was soft and purple and in the center was a tiny, arrow the color of burnt gold. She recognized it as similar to the arrow necklace Natasha often wore around her throat.

Darcy wrapped the strap twice around her wrist and snapped it closed. The leather on her wrist warmed her heart. She decided she would wear the bracelet always.

Bucky was staring out the windshield, focused on flying. She wondered when he learned to fly the Quinjet, but recalled his proficiency for learning by observing. He’d been out on missions with Hawkeye more than a few times. She figured he’d probably learned to fly the machine like an expert in less than one mission.

“So—“

"Might want to wait until we’re above cruising altitude, doll.”

Darcy snapped her lips shut and wondered if the no cell phone rule applied to small, stealth mode jets. She could certainly use a distraction for the moment.

Bucky flew them high above the clouds, until the world below was obscured by nothing but gray and fluff. The view was all black and stars. It had been ages since Darcy had any decent look at the vast world over their heads. The desert had always provided an exceptional front row seat to see all of the wonders of the sky. New York, with its skyscrapers and smog, tended to block out all that existed above and beyond.

Once they reached a preferred altitude, Bucky had Jarvis take over and unclipped his belt, shooting up and rounding on her.

“What in the hell were you thinking?” He demanded in a raised voice.

“Whoa,” Darcy unsnapped her seat belt and shot to her feet, wanting to level the playing field. “I expected the lecture from Captain Tightpants but not from you.”

“Steve had a point. You have no idea the situation you could be walking into. For all you know, it's a giant trap.” Apparently when Bucky was mad, his Brooklyn accent became more pronounced. It would have been incredibly charming, except for the fact that he was directing all of his thunder at her at the moment.

Darcy took a deep breath, hoping to keep the situation from spiraling. “Look, I can explain. There’s more going on here than just a check up visit.”

Bucky gave her a tight nod, mollified for the moment and signaling that he was willing to listen.

Darcy recapped her newfound knowledge in light of Hodges’s secret message and the revealing conversation with Jane. As she talked, she realized in the back of her head that a lot had gone down in the past twenty-four hours, including a hangover. After months of quiet sciencing in Stark tower, she was now neck deep in another adventure. Really, it was only a matter of time.

“When did you find the message?”

“Jarvis found it last night before we…went out.”

The V shape between his brows deepened. “When were you planning on sharing?”

“Today. I didn’t want to ruin the night with spy talk,” she explained. “And then I didn’t really have time today between plotting Jane’s and my escape and…”

Her words trailed off as did her gaze. She folded her hands together as her eyes flicked absently over the various controls around the pilot’s chair, trying to look natural and failing.

“Darce, I—“

“Look I was drunk, okay? I’m sorry. I know I was way, way out of bounds. Like so out of bounds I was practically playing ball from Asgard. I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

“It’s not that.” He pulled a hand through his hair. Bucky was also having trouble meeting her eyes, but he did, and the sadness she saw within them made her heart twist. “I care about you. I don’t want to hurt your feelings. But…you and me…”

“I get it, you don’t have to say it.”

“You do?”

Darcy nodded, her fingers playing with her new bracelet. “It was a big mistake, it won’t happen again. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize. I’m the one who should be apologizing.” Bucky shoved his hands into his pockets. It made him look like such a normal, nervous guy that she wanted to giggle. “For what’s it worth, doll, you’re important to me.”

Darcy managed a small smile. “That’s worth a lot.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Darcy said, trying to blink away the shine in her eyes. “Like worth more than all the bagels in New York.”

Bucky grinned. “That’s a lot.”

“Yeah it is,” she said, hoping the thickness of her voice wasn’t too obvious. “I think I’m gonna go catch some Z’s,” she told him, thumbing back in the direction of the barracks. “I haven’t really slept much and was nursing a pretty wicked hangover this morning.”

“I’ll wake you when we land.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Safe to say Darcy and Bucky aren't at all on the same page. It was a little hard for me to convey Bucky's point of view and the fact that he just doesn't think he's capable of feeling love for someone. He's still unsure of what emotions he will ever be able to know, and he's trying to be a good friend, and protect Darcy from that. He doesn't want her to have feelings for someone who might never be able to have them back. 
> 
> And Darcy is kind of just having an insecure moment. We all have them when we're crushing haha
> 
> So the plot for this story is kind of developing into alternate canon for me. Basically I've decided on planning that it takes place between TWS and AoU. It's also been a fun challenge to combine Captain America movies--which are largely action, thrillers--with Thor type movies--which are mostly sci-fi. We'll get to see Bucky's involvement with Team Science a bit more...who knows, that could be a good place for him eventually? ;)
> 
> Also, just a note, if Darcy's escape plan seems very terrible, it's because it is. I went over and over again in my head trying to come up with something that would be flawless and could actually work when I realized, it was okay to be bad. She's a civilian and while she may be smart, she wouldn't necessarily know how to make a decent escape plan haha
> 
> Kudos to the people who catch the Firefly reference hiding in there.


	13. Part XIV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the belated chapter list of excuses:  
> 1) I took a little detour to work on a couple Tasertrick prompts. Those were fun!  
> 2) Alan Rickman. If you don't know me well, I have vast love for this man. The news about his death made me very sad to the point where I would have just written a lot of angst and sadness.  
> 3) I wrote through this chapter a couple times, a little unsure of it. There's a long going on and as always I'm trying to reveal mystery bits and backstory bits and offstage action without cramming it down the reader's throat. I think it's one of those chapters where if this were an original book, I might go back and be able to work it better once I have the entire picture. As such..here it is and my best effort for a first draft.
> 
> Because of the delay, this chapter is unbetaed, so please excuse gross mistakes.
> 
> Please also excuse my writing of British accents. For some reason a particular character was sounding like Ron Weasley in my head so I sort of just went with it haha

Bucky followed the usual protocol and with Jarvis’s assistance, found a remote place in the countryside to land the jet where they were unlikely to be discovered. Darcy slept through the flight, bunked in one of the onboard barracks. Bucky found her curled up into a ball, her glasses askew on her face. She appeared to have just collapsed onto the cot and passed out before getting the a chance to make herself comfortable.

He crouched down next to her sleeping spot and ran a gentle hand over her soft, brown hair. A soft, sleepy murmur slipped from her lips, eyes half blinking, but not quite awake. Bucky’s lips twitched in amusement, feeling an unusual pull in his chest.

“Time to get up, doll. We’re here.”

The air was crisper than in New York, the sky cool and gray, but calm. Darcy pulled on her olive army coat and grabbed a knit hat from her bag before pulling on her boots and a scarf.

Bucky was doing post flight checks and reporting in to Steve while she readied herself, finishing up when he heard her boots on the steel floor behind him. She leaned over the controls, examining the green of the forest on the other side of the window.

“Did we time travel? This doesn’t look like the London I know.”

“We’re about 40 clicks from the city limits,” he answered.

“How are we getting into the city?”

Bucky pushed out of the pilot’s chair and headed toward the ramp, expecting Darcy to follow along. He grabbed her travel bag on the way out and shouldered it, already having loaded up his own. “We’ll take the bike.”

“Bike?” Her sleepy eyes went wide. “As in M-motorcycle?”

“Yep.”

Bucky continued down the ramp, to where the bike waited for them. Darcy approached the vehicle as if it were a sleeping lion that could pounce at any time.

“I’m not really a motorcycle girl. Is this even safe?”

She hovered in the middle of the ramp. Bucky sighed, walking back up and taking her hand to pull her down to the ground level, her feet reluctantly stomping the entire way.

“Do you think I’d let you on the bike if it wasn’t perfectly safe?” He shifted her arm so he could get her bag over her head and strap it close to her body for the ride.

“You’d ‘ _let’_ me on the bike? As in you have control over what I do?” She arched a brow.

Of course independence and her damn stubbornness would be the thing to beat back her fear. Bucky smirked at the fire in her jade eyes, giving her bag strap one more yank. She shook against the pull, but didn’t budge, her eyes staying locked with his.

“Well, if you’re too scared…” he waved the extra helmet in his hand back and forth, taunting her.

Darcy scrunched her nose and snatched the helmet from his grasp. “I see what you did there, Barnes.”

“There’s my brave girl.” Bucky knocked her on the chin and laughed when she scoffed and batted his hand away.

The pair tugged on their helmets and Bucky slid onto the bike. Darcy scooted on behind him, her front snug against his back, her hands locking around his torso in a death like grip.

Bucky grunted and shifted.

“One word,” Darcy warned, “about how I’m holding on too tight and Hydra will look like a kiddie day camp compared to what I’ll do to you.”

Bucky bit down on his response and let her wiggle tighter into him, kicking the bike into gear and revving the engine. He swore that kicking it up to sixty so fast was a complete accident and in no way was a ploy to see if Darcy would hold on even tighter. He allowed himself a moment’s satisfaction when he felt her squeeze his stomach and then turned his focus to getting them in to the city.

He wasn’t sure who might be waiting for them when they got there and he wanted to be prepared and alert for anything.

.

.

.

.

.

By the time they made it into the city, Darcy had discovered one very important thing.

She was never, ever getting on a motorcycle _ever_ again. Even the guilty pleasure of having an excuse to hold onto Bucky couldn’t make her get on that crazy contraption. It was hard to secretly cop a feel of his abs when she was terrified for her life.

Darcy was white knuckling Bucky’s leather jacket by the time he parked around the block from Erik’s street. She jumped off and threw the helmet at him as soon as they were on stable ground.

He laughed shamelessly. “Come on, doll. My driving wasn’t that bad.”

“Don’t tell my mom I said this, but she was totally right about boys on motorcycles.” She brushed and huffed her tangled hair out of her face, praising Asgard that she was alive.

“Drama queen.”

Darcy opened her mouth to retort, but the combination of his playful blue eyes and sexy smirk made her stop. It was a rare sight on Bucky’s face. She figured she’d take it as reward for being so graceful about the motorcycle.

London was everything Darcy remembered. Cool and gray, anonymous. It was easy to get lost in the crowds, everyone meandering, involved in their own little lives. The clouds overhead threatened rain, but Darcy could tell by the shades of gray it was an empty threat. The day would most likely stay clear and gloomy.

She did a little spin on the sidewalk of the tree-lined street, examining her surroundings.

Without asking, Bucky had somehow known the way to Erik’s flat. The plan wasn’t to walk right up, knock on the door, and check on her friend. Instead they would lay low for a while, scoping out the neighborhood, pretending to be tourists. Bucky would get the lay of the land and have a chance to assess any potential threats.

“Come on,” he nodded, in the direction of a more populated street.

Darcy strolled beside him, eyes darting to every person they passed, wondering if they were a spy or an enemy. How was she supposed to tell if someone was a threat? What did threats look like? Unless there was a big dude, with a mean face, dressed in all black and pointing a gun at them, she felt that she was unlikely to spot someone suspicious.

Bucky threw an arm around her shoulder and she jumped into his side, startled by the contact. “Relax.” He whispered into her hair.

Darcy’s heart thumped, she licked her lips. Bucky’s arm stayed around her side. “How do we know if there are any bad guys?”

“We’ll circle a few times, see if we pick up any tails. Or recognize something out of the ordinary. See that woman with the dog?” Darcy followed his gaze to a short haired, blonde woman with a bulldog going to the bathroom by a tree. “Fido should finish doing his business and she should be gone the next time we head around.”

“”Fido?’ Looks like more of a ‘Sparky’ to me.”

“Is there ever a time when you aren’t a smart ass?”

“Maybe when I was still in the womb.”

“Just pay attention, but act natural. Don’t look like you’re paying attention.”

Darcy thought she got the gist of what he was saying. Pick up the details, pick out the ordinary and compare it to the too ordinary. Find what was out of place.

“What about the guy there?” There was a man, with a black umbrella, reading a newspaper on a bench. “Who reads a newspaper anymore?”

She was pressed against him enough to feel his chest rumble as he laughed.

“Good point,” he conceded. “Anyone else watching, they’ll notice us, too. They’ll wonder why we’re strolling around the block repeatedly.” His pace slowed, quick eyes passing behind her head. “Doll, promise me…If someone starts following, you do everything I say. If I say hide, you hide. If I say get back, you get back. If I say run you say—“

“Like hell I’m leaving you behind.”

Bucky frowned. Darcy knew that wasn’t the answer he was looking for, but he didn’t know her at all if he thought she’d say otherwise.

“Darce—“

“My Taser is in my pocket, if anyone gets close to me, they’re getting shocked back to the dark ages.”

“Someone wouldn’t necessarily need to get close to hurt you.” His voice strained against the words,

Darcy was scared and nervous, but there wasn’t much use in worrying about it now. If there was danger to be found within those few blocks surrounding Erik’s flat, then they were already in it. Sooner or later, the switch would flip.

Bucky brought them to a stop and all of Darcy’s senses went on alert. “What do you see? What is it?” He pushed against her shoulders and turned her to face the storefront and sign. A man exiting with a coffee rushed past them. “A café?”

“We’re going inside.”

“Why?”

His mouth curved. “Because it’s morning and you haven’t had your caffeine yet.”

Darcy grinned. “You know me so well.”

Inside the little shop was a small queue of people waiting to place orders. Darcy gazed lovingly at the pastry display, while Bucky covertly surveyed the other customers hanging out at the wooden tables, some alone with reading materials or laptops, others chatting away with friends. “Want anything?” Darcy asked. Bucky grunted. “You haven’t eaten, either. I’m getting you a bagel.”

Darcy ordered two coffees and two bagels with extra cream cheese.

“Use your card.”

Darcy arched a brow at his tone. It sounded like an order more than a request. “Well, if _that’s_ the kind of guy you want to be, I guess I’ll be the sugar mama.” She smiled at the younger cashier, who shook her head at the exchange.

A few minutes later, they got their breakfasts, stopping at a table for a few quick moments to eat. Bucky stared out the window.

“Sorry,” he said to her, watching a cyclist ride by. He was apologizing for his tone. “I meant in case something happens. In case Steve or Stark need to track us, they’ll know where you’ve been.”

Darcy chewed her bagel. “I understand.”

His mouth twitched and he pulled his gaze away from the window to meet her eyes. “For the record, that’s not the kind of guy I am. If I could, you’d never spend a dime.”

“Hey! I can pay for my own bagels and coffee and whatever else, just like any other red-blooded female. It’s the 21st century dude, going Dutch is a totally acceptable thing with couples.”

“Going Dutch?”

“Halfsies,” she explained.

Bucky shrugged, tearing off a piece of bagel and popping it into his mouth. “Well, what if I _wanted_ to pay for everything?”

“You’d actually want to spend all your money on a girl?”

“Wouldn’t be hard. I don’t have any money.” Darcy rolled her eyes at his smirk; he was such a smart ass sometimes.

“Pretend you’re as rich as Tony. How about then?”

All the tension that Bucky had been exhibiting on the street and in line had completely vanished. He was at ease now, leaning back in the wooden chair, legs stretched out, arm slung over the back of the empty chair next to him.

“If I had Tony’s bank account and it were the right girl…I’d buy her the moon if she wanted it.”

A little bit of Brooklyn boy slipped into his words. It was such a cheesy thing to say, a line pulled straight out of another time. But his smile, his charm, all made it work. Darcy was slowly realizing, over coffee and bagel and recon, that she wanted to be the girl who deserved the moon.

            She quickly finished her food and most of her coffee, and then double-checked it was cool for her to go to the bathroom herself. Bucky hesitated at the notion of splitting up, but since the door was in his eye line, he gave her a nod of approval.

            Darcy made sure the whole trip lasted less than a minute.

            When she appeared again, the earlier tension that he’d been showing had returned.

            “Let’s go,” he said. He held up her olive jacket so she could slip her arms inside.

            Bucky held the door for her on the way out, keeping a hand at her back until they established their path on the sidewalk. He steered them in the direction further away from Erik’s flat.

            Darcy flinched, when Bucky reached down and grabbed her hand, squeezing it tight.

            “Sorry,” he muttered, feeling her jump. She wanted to tell him she wasn’t surprised-disgusted that he was holding her hand; quite the opposite, actually.

            “What were we talking about earlier?”

            “Umm,” Darcy floundered, overly aware of his hand in hers. He had his gloves on, to mask his metal hand, but she could still feel the heat through the leather. “Paying for dates?”

            “All your boyfriends make you pay when you go out?”

            “It’s not like that. I can tell a cheap guy from a guy who has respect for my independence,” she told him. “Besides, most of the dating I did was in college and dating in college usually means you’re both poor as hell. So, unless both parties are paying their share of a fancy meal, then we probably aren’t going to get to have one. That’s the Darcy Lewis Dating Philosophy.”

            Bucky stopped and turned to her, using her hand to tug her closer. “Darcy Lewis Dating Philosophy?”

            He pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and gave her a smirk that turned her knees to Jello. She swallowed his switch between tense, to relaxed, to flirtatious making her head spin.

            Of course, she opened her mouth to respond, an ungraceful yelp coming out as he pushed her into a small alcove.

            Her heart was hammering in her chest, her eyes glued to his. His body pressed near hers was entirely distracting. Stunned to the point of being on autopilot, she moved her arms around his waist, meeting the feel of something cold and metal peeking out of his waistband.

            A gun.

            He was armed.

            Of course he was armed. He probably had a dozen guns and a hundred knives on him at that very moment.

            Because they were on a mission. She hadn’t meant to forget.

            “What’s going on?” she asked, a niggling feeling that he didn’t actually want to slam her up against a wall an make out with her taking over.

            “We’re being followed,” he said bringing his face closer to her. To a passerby, they would look like a couple, stealing a few kisses. “Someone took an interest in you when you got up to use the bathroom in the coffee shop.”

            “Who?”

            “Male. Brown hair. Red hat. Black jacket.”

            Following their cover, Darcy lifted herself onto her toes. She craned her head, angling her lips as if she planned to kiss Bucky behind his ear and along his jaw. Her arms wrapped around his neck, hoisting herself to look over his shoulder for their tail.

            This time, his breath caught, one of his hand gripping her waist. It was the metal arm. A thrill went through Darcy, but she told her libido to simmer down.

            Darcy’s eyes scanned the block for a red hat. She spotted it. Him. Brown hair, red beanie hat, a black jacket and, “Messenger bag with patches all over it?”

            “Yeah.”

            The man stopped, realizing that he’d been noticed and quickly turned away.

            Darcy disentangled herself from Bucky and darted in their tracker’s direction. She heard Bucky spew something out in colorful Russian that was probably a swear.

            “Darcy!”

            “Ian!” She called out. “Ian! Wait!”

            Her ex-boyfriend turned, shifting his red cap up his forehead, and offered a nervous grin. Darcy stopped in front of him, staring up at his sheepish face.

            “Hey, Darcy. I thought I saw you.”

            “Ian,” she repeated his name once more in disbelief. “Were you following us?”

            Ian’s nervous smile was all teeth as he looked between her and Bucky behind her. “Sorry. I saw you in the café. I didn’t expect to see you here, in London, I mean. I thought—what are you doing here?”

            “Visiting Erik,” Darcy answered, earning an admonishing noise from the man behind her. “Oh, uh sorry. This is Ian. Ian this is—“

            “James,” Bucky replied for her, shooting her a confused glare. The two men shook hands, Ian wincing at the force of “James’s” grip.

            “Nice to meet you,” he said as he pulled back, shaking out his hand. “You said you’re visiting Erik?”

            “Yeah. He called Jane so we figured we’d check up on him.”

            “He’s not around actually. He headed out of town about a few days ago, asked me to watch over his flat, feed his fish. I’ve been crashing there the past couple nights.”

            Darcy passed Bucky a look. “Notice anything weird?”

            “Nothing weirder than usual, for Erik, ya know?”

            Darcy nodded. Erik had been a bit of a strange bird since everything that had happened with Loki. His bouts of insanity often manifested in interesting ways. “Well, we were hoping to maybe stay…”

            Ian looked at both of them and shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Come on, he should be back soon. He’s never gone for more than a few days.”

.

.

.

.

.

.

            Maybe there was a correlation between brilliance and the inability to keep anything in order. Bucky was beginning to think so, judging by the state of Selvig’s apartment. There were papers everywhere, random decorations lining the walls that had no rhyme or reason. Foster’s office space had been much the same. There was a large fish tank pressed against the wall of the living room, but Bucky didn’t spot any life inside the tank.

            Soda bottles overflowed from the recycling and boxes were left unpacked.

            Maybe Ian was just a bad houseguest.

            The young man was in the kitchen, Darcy perched on a stool as he made tea and explained the doctor’s whereabouts.

            “He’s been going on trips, usually weekends. Calls me up, says he’ll be gone for a couple days, asks me to watch the place and then comes back. This is the longest trip he’s taken.”

            Ian scratched at the back of his head, just under his cap, and lifted the kettle from the stove.

            “Do you know where he went? Did he say when he was coming back?”

            “He never says. I asked him if it was safe and all he said was he was visiting a secret girlfriend. That’s a lie.”

            “How do you know?” Bucky chimed in.

            Ian flinched at Bucky addressing him directly. “Have you met Selvig? He’s barmy. Good bloke, but I can’t imagine him ever attracting a woman.”

            “Where do you think he’s going if he’s off having some secret sex-capade?”

            “Science thing,” Ian shrugged, passing Darcy tea. Bucky watched him closely, noticing the amount of sugar he deposited without having to ask. Exactly the way Darcy preferred. “Both Doctor Foster and Erik had their secrets. And so did you…”

            He trailed off meaningfully, scratching at his neck again. Apparently it was a nervous habit.

            “Have you heard from him recently?”

            “No but, I mean I’m sure he’s fine, if he called you and Jane.”

            “He cancelled a non-existent visit with us.”

            “You know he forgets everything that doesn’t have to do with whatever research he’s working on. I’m sure he had it in his head that there was a visit scheduled and forgot to actually mention it to either of you.”

            “Don’t do that,” Darcy countered. “Don’t do that thing where you pretend like I’m making something out of nothing.”

            “I’m not, I’m just saying…” He sighed. “You go digging for all this stuff—“

            “Stuff?”

           “ _Danger_. There are some of us who are just trying to live normal lives, ya know?”

            Bucky didn’t like the guy’s tone or the way he was talking to her. Darcy shut him down with a frown and a turn of her head.

            “I need to make a call.” Ian excused himself from the room.

            Because Darcy was refusing to look up, Bucky moved in front of her field of vision.

            “We’ve got to figure out where he goes.”

            “Agreed,” Bucky replied.

            “Being secretive about research is on thing…being unsafe while sciencing…” Finally she looked up at him. “You don’t think I’m making too much out of this?”

            Bucky didn’t think that at all. Darcy had been right about Hodges’ and the attack. He knew from her history that she’d help connect a few dots during the Convergence and also in New Mexico. The girl had a good gut instinct and the smarts to see things that seemed to slide by everyone else. One way or another, he knew Darcy would be determined to figure out what was going on. And Bucky would follow her until she did.

            They spent the afternoon at Selvig’s. After a moment of insecurity that morning, Darcy seemed to recover just fine, ordering Ian to help dig up all of Erik’s recent research files. She called Jane, asking for ideas where Erik might be making trips, but Jane told Darcy that he’d refused to tell even her where the energy anomalies were occurring, lest Jane try to make the trips herself.

            “Ya know,” Ian complained, rifling through files. “I’m not your intern anymore.”

            “No, you’re my ex, which means I have total and complete right to boss you around and be as mean to you as I want.”

            Normally, Bucky would have applauded that sass and saccharine smile that came along with it. But instead he was tripping over the “ex” part of her insult.

            Ian ducked his head and went back to work, while Bucky continued feeling a little useless. Research really wasn’t his forte. Instead he busied himself with checking out windows and scanning the apartment for bugs. Once he’d discovered the former relationship status of the boy and Darcy, he decided it was a good time to do a weapons check.

            The younger man gulped at the sight of the guns and knives Bucky drew from his person, placing each deadly weapon on the dining table with the care of a doting lover and giving every one a thorough inspection.

            Darcy had gone to the bathroom when Ian finally decided to take a chance and break the tense silence between them.

            “So, James,” he squeaked. “You work for S.H.I.E.L.D then?”

            “Not really,” Bucky grunted, not bothering to look from his gun. He shoved a magazine back into his SIG Sauer, hard enough to make Ian jump.

            “You an—and Darcy. I saw you outside the café. You two—err..?”

            Bucky snapped his eyes to Ian, hitting him with a look that dared him to finish the question. The boy scratched at his neck. He was saved when Darcy came back into the room.

            “Hey, Ian, didn’t you say there were news paper clippings somewhere that Erik was hoarding?”

            “Yeah, bedroom. I’ll grab them.”

            When Ian disappeared, Darcy sent an arch look in Bucky’s direction. He was trying to appear innocent and confused, but she wouldn’t be Darcy if she didn’t see right through it. “What?”

            She answered with a snort and went back to the workspace she’d carved out for herself on the couch. “Nothing,” she muttered. “Testosterone!” She coughed, exaggeratedly patting her chest.

            “Bless you,” Bucky countered.

“Pulling out all the guns…real nice touch.”

            Bucky grinned to himself as Darcy settled back into her research.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

            Nothing about Erik’s research seemed to connect. It was all as manic as he’d been when they’d seen him stark naked on television months ago. Which, to say the least, was disappointing. She thought Erik was doing better. It made her all the more worried for the man to be heading off alone.  All the notes he left behind were about meteorology. Erik was an astronomer; she wasn’t sure what the hell rain and snow had to do with stars and planets. Unless he’d suddenly taken up storm chasing as a weird side hobby.

            Ian tried to help with what he could. He spent most of the time running in and out of the living room and giving Bucky a wide berth. Around four in the afternoon on the second day, Darcy felt that she’d hit a dead in with all of her possible leads. So instead she did something she hated doing more than anything. She cleaned.

            Erik’s flat was a total pigsty. Ian had done a crappy job taking care of it, aside from keeping the fish alive. It took her some time to get the little Beta to poke its head out from its hiding place inside of a sunken pirate ship and greet her.

            Darcy wasn’t the most organized girl in the world, but she was relatively clean. Clutter was her problem, leaving take out Chinese on the kitchen counter for so long that it was beginning to grow its own eco-system was not.

            Strangely, she still craved Egg Rolls even after getting a huge whiff of spoiled Lo-Mein.

            After dinner, Ian went out to meet friends at the pub to watch football and Darcy talked Bucky into a quick nap. She promised to scream really loud if someone came into the apartment to kill her. Bucky left the bedroom door open and she knew she’d be lucky if he actually slept for more than fifteen minutes.

            Since it was the first time he’d actually be sleeping in close proximity to her since the-almost-stabbing-incident-she-preferred-not-to-speak-of, he quizzed her on the super secret sleep words before he agreed to some shut eye.

            Bored, restless, and unable to sleep herself, she grabbed a pillow and blanket and took advantage of the swinging bench on Erik’s balcony. It was a few floors above ground, perfect for some privacy and a fair place for stargazing. There was a telescope at the far end, a few potted plants wilting from neglect.

            The sun sank into the sky, bathing the London night in a rich, dark blue. City life wasn’t great place to get a good view of the stars, but Erik’s balcony view beat out the window in her Stark Tower apartment hands down.

            Darcy curled her feet under her and wrapped herself in the blanket, laying back to look up at the sky and let her mind go blank.

            “It’s not safe to be outside alone.” She must have been dozing; she didn’t hear Bucky creep up to the sliding door. His admonishment lacked any real feeling, though. “If you wanna sleep, do it inside.”

            “I wasn’t sleeping, I was thinking…with my eyes closed.”

            Bucky scoffed, stepping out to join her. He gripped the iron railing, looking out into the back alley and the windows of the other apartments that faced them. She knew he was looking for danger, scanning for threats.

            “We used to do this in New Mexico. Jane and Erik and I. We’d go up on the rooftop of the lab and just chill, looking at the stars. Sometimes together and sometimes alone. I sit and wonder what the hell I was doing and how any of the science crap was actually going to help me with my future. I thought about quitting a thousand times and going back to Virginia, putting off graduating until the next semester when I could find some lobbying internship in Washington.”

            “And now what are you thinking?”

            She tugged at Clint’s bracelet on her wrist. “I think I’m worried that I’m not going to find my friend, or worse, that I won’t like what I find when I do.”

            “You’ll find him.”

            “How do you know?”

            “Cause you’re Darcy Lewis, second most stubborn pain in the ass I know. You won’t quit until you get the job done.” Darcy tucked her chin down and smiled to herself at the conviction in his voice. Conviction that was directed at her, even if she wasn’t entirely sure she deserved it. “Come on, you out here by yourself makes me nervous.”

            He nodded his head in the direction of the living room and Darcy hoisted herself away from her comfy seat, blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She paused in the doorway and turned back to him. “ _Second_ most stubborn pain in the ass?”

            “Steve has you beat.”

            “Hmph,” she snorted. “I need to step up my game.”

            Bucky just shook his head and gave her shoulder a little shove to move her back inside.

.

.

.

.

.

            The next morning, Darcy discovered a severe lack of coffee and breakfast supplies in Erik’s fridge. She convinced Bucky to escort her down to the corner shop to pick up a few items, since they would conceivably be there for the next couple of days. Erik would probably need groceries when he got home, anyways.

            The quick trip gave Bucky a chance to do another perimeter check. Everything was clean and quiet. That bothered him. He checked in with Steve again and Darcy called Jane to see if she heard from Erik. Still nothing. That bothered her.

            Darcy was cracking eggs into a frying pan and Bucky was having coffee, when the door jiggled. Her heart stopped and Bucky moved a hand toward some hidden weapon.

            Ian walked in and she deflated.

            “Walk of shame?” she teased.

            The younger man shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it on the coat rack, nudging back his red hat. “Yeah, I’ll need a confessional for the things I got up to with my study group last night,” he said. “I crashed at me mate’s.”

            Bucky watched Ian study Darcy for further reaction, but her focus went back to breakfast and making a plan for the day. It was then that Ian caught sight of Bucky’s hand.

            “Bloody hell!” Ian’s eyes went wide at the sight of metal glinting in the morning sunlight.

            Bucky tensed and Darcy dropped her spatula, wondering where to turn her attention first. “Ian, it’s not polite to stare at the deadly assassin’s metal arm. Bucky—“

            “A-assassin?” Ian stammered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hold on—you’re the solider from the leaked footage. With the giant metal arm!”

            S.H.I.E.L.D. had done a fairly good job at wiping all of the captures of The Winter Soldier from the internet, but people still saw, and some made back ups before the originals were taken off line. It was not unlike George Lucas trying to make the Star Wars Christmas special disappear. Just because he embargoed the original film, didn’t mean the proof that existed wasn’t out there.

            “Fucking hell! Darcy! This is who you move onto? No wonder you wouldn’t answer my calls. I can’t bleedin’ compete with this.” Ian waved his hand in Bucky’s general direction. The jittery science student had become irritated enough that he was no longer self-conscious about his behavior around Bucky.

            “Whoa hang on! First he and I aren’t—like that. And second, if you want to go into that it was you who dumped me.”

            “I didn’t mean to!”

            “Didn’t mean to? _Didn’t mean to_? Oh like you accidentally tripped and fell down and broke up with me?” Her voice went up in volume and pitch.

            “I was trying to tell you. I don’t know why I did it. The next day I just didn’t—I don’t know. I don’t know what happened.” He slid his beanie off his head, holding it in his hands. “Darcy, I know I said things…the last few times we did talk. I worry about you, I worry about you living near the Avengers and being involved in all this outer space stuff with Thor and--”

            “What am I supposed to do? Pretend like I haven’t seen what I’ve seen? Pretend I don’t know what I know?”

            “Darcy—“

            Darcy went on, silently thanking Bucky for slipping out of the kitchen and away to the bedroom to give him privacy. She didn’t really want an audience for a long overdue fight with her ex. The problem with breaking up long distance was it took away the chance for a screaming match of closure.

            “Ian, everything you said about me willing to fight for everything but you was true. Not because I don’t care about you, I do and it took you breaking up with me to realize that. We just…like you said, I’m not going to be a hero. But I wanna be…something. Something that matters.”

            Ian dragged a face over his hands. “I wish I could rebuttal but I don’t even remember the things that you’re saying I said. I don’t remember the conversation we had that night. I don’t—“

            Darcy’s gasp cut him off. “Oh my god, Bucky!”

            Darcy didn’t find out what else Ian didn’t remember. He stopped cold, face going ghost white. A gun clicked behind his head, the barrel pressing into his hair, and Bucky’s cold stare focusing on the back of his neck.

            “Bucky,” she said, using caution, using the most gentle voice she could manage under the circumstance. “What are you doing? Put. The. Gun. Down.”

            Bucky’s eyes flicked to hers and she saw exactly what she was afraid of seeing.

            The Winter Soldier had no intention of lowering his gun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, Ian sounded like Ron Weasley in my head as I was writing. I don't know why.
> 
> Also, I've never been to London (fingers crossed one day!) so my descriptions are possibly horrible. I'm picturing TV shows and movies in my mind.
> 
> I snuck in some tidbits I developed of Darcy and Ian's relationship in this chapter, but didn't focus too much on it, because I wasn't sure that any of it was relevant. Basically, they clashed a lot over Darcy kind of being an adventure/hero junkie (not that she realizes it) and Ian basically had his fill of adventure after the events of TDW and want to just be a normal guy.
> 
> Anyways, hope you enjoyed!! Thanks for all the follows/comments/kudos :)
> 
> Follow me on tumblr at marvelouskatie !!!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled through this a bit guys. So be gentle! I'll have some notes at the end for anyone who might like to read the writer-y process-y things I ramble about. 
> 
> Thanks for patience and encouragement as always :)

Ian’s eyes were blown out in fear, Bucky’s gun pressed to the back of his neck. His gaze begged her to do something to save him for certain death.

The words to knock Bucky out were on the tip of her tongue. He’d had clearly gone off the rails. It was lack of sleep or stress of the situation that turned his defenses on overload. It could have even been petty jealousy. Maybe she was grasping at straws for that last reason, but she didn’t want to believe that something had truly flipped within Bucky and he’d turned into something else.

It would only take a single breath and a few syllables and he would pass out. Assuming that she could get the words out before Bucky got a shot off, and then…what? Grab Ian and run? But to where? She’d call Rogers and tell him that his friend had lost his mind and tried to kill them?

Ian’s hands shook out in the air at his sides, in a vein attempt to show surrender.

“Don’t move,” Bucky growled. “Darcy.”

She stopped cold, not even realizing that she’d picked her foot up to take a step.

Her tongue pressed against her teeth and she was about to deliver the verbal knock out, but the look in his eyes made her stop and reconsider.

The initial shock of seeing him holding her ex at gunpoint wore off just enough that she was able to better observe the situation and him. His eyes didn’t hold anger or rage or the cold disinterest of a machine on a mission. Fear, was what she saw. Paralyzing fear. The kind that would drive anyone to the edge.

“Bucky,” she used the calmest voice she could muster. “What’s going on?”

“He’s Hydra.”

Darcy shook her head. “What? No—“

“What’s Hydra—I don’t—“ Ian flinched when Bucky shifted the gun against his head.

“It would be better if you didn’t speak.”

Ian squeezed his eyes shut, terrified and sweating. He didn’t know what Hydra was. Ian didn’t have the kind of security clearance one would need to know that an evil Nazi science club was still active and at large, one of its former projects currently threatening to shoot him.

“Bucky, why do you think Ian is Hydra?”

Bucky lowered the gun, but only so he could grab Ian and twist him around so they were face to face. Bucky glared down at Ian, daring him to try something, holding onto his neck and craning it so Darcy could see.

“These markings on his neck? Do you see them?” Darcy took a couple steps closer and notices a circle of red dots on the back of Ian’s neck, just under his hairline. “It’s an injection wound. A tox screen would show that he’s been pumped full of Datura—a serum Hydra uses to control people.”

A layer of confusion settled on top of Ian’s panic. “I—“ He tried to speak and then stopped himself remembering Bucky’s warning.

“What is it, Ian?” Darcy asked, giving Bucky a look that said to let him speak.

“I don’t know anything about any injection. I haven’t had any injections, I think I’d remember.”

“That’s the point of the serum,” Bucky continued, speaking through clenched teeth. “You don’t remember. They inject you and you’re at their will. They can command you to do whatever they want and you’ll never remember receiving the order or carrying it out.”

Darcy stepped forward so she was right behind Ian. If Bucky shot him, there was a chance she could get hurt, too.

“He isn’t Hydra, Bucky,” she reasoned. “Please, put down the gun.”         

Bucky’s grip shifted against the gun, the plates in his arm whirring and shifting in the tense silence. Darcy could see he remained unconvinced that they weren’t in danger. She stood her ground.

“Look, I promised to never say the words to you unless it was absolutely necessary, unless you turned into someone dangerous, and I can see right now that isn’t what is going on. But you aren’t giving me a whole lot of choices right now, Bucky. Either lower the gun or I’ll have to make you, and I really, really don’t want to do that.”

A long fearful moment of consideration stretched before them, with Darcy counting her breaths, praying that Bucky didn’t just decide to shoot him instead. It was an unspoken third option.

A sharp, Russian curse, fell from Bucky’s mouth as he moved the gun away from Ian.

Darcy’s whole body sunk in relief.

She relaxed a moment to soon.

With super soldier speed, Bucky’s metal arm swept up and down. Darcy cried out as the hit landed. A knock to his head hard enough that the poor boy dropped like a rock and passed out cold.

.

.

.

.

Bucky could see the anger in Darcy’s eyes, but it was easy to ignore. It wasn’t anywhere near the level of rage currently erupting inside of him.

They were en route back to the Quinjet. It was unsafe to stay at Selvig’s any longer, not if Ian was a Hydra recon tool. Their easy escape led him to the conclusion that they weren’t under constant surveillance, but there was no telling when an agent might be around to check on his chrage.

Darcy had grabbed the pieces of Selvig’s research she thought might be important while Bucky made a call to Steve to update him on the new information. Natasha, also listening in, informed him that they would have a few London based SHIELD agents keep an eye on the place in case anyone came to poke around.

The logistics of getting out of the city were a little more cumbersome now that they were a group of three and one was unconscious. Bucky was forced to leave the bike on the London streets. They located Boothby’s card, and Bucky spilled the unconscious boy into the back seat, taking the wheel, with Darcy in the passenger seat refusing to look at or speak to him.

Again, it was easy to ignore her anger, when he was concentrating so hard on his own. His brain couldn’t decide which bad situation to focus on. The fact that Boothby was involved with Hydra, the fact that Hydra was involved in this situation to begin with, or the fact that Darcy was in even more danger than they originally realized.

His instincts screamed to kill and dump the kid, then take them back to New York. It was cowardly; he’d be the first to admit it. He was supposed to be a soldier, a fighter. He should aim to meet the enemy head on and take them out without pity. But looking that the girl sitting next to him, as angry as she was with him at the moment, he wanted to be something more than just a fighter or a killer. For the first time in a long time, he wanted to protect.

It was the same feeling that had stopped Bucky from killing Steve on the highway all those months ago.

_You know him._

_He’s important._

_Protect this._

They ditched the car and Bucky loaded Ian into the jet, still ignoring Darcy’s disapproving huffs and frowns when he shackled the young man to a cot. JARVIS set a course for Scotland, where they could hide out, far away from where Hydra might already be tailing them.

“Sergeant Barnes,” JARVIS said. “Before we take off, may I suggest running a full scan on Mr. Boothby, to locate any possible interior tracking devices.”

“Interior tracking devices?” Darcy questioned.

“Hydra may have planted trackers in him, while he was under the influence of their drugs,” he explained.

Darcy gave a curt nod and Bucky gave JARVIS the affirmative to run the scans. They were given the clear and Bucky took off for the next remote location, while Darcy continued to seethe, and watch over her passed out friend.

.

.

.

.

SHIELD intelligence worked fast. It had only been an hour after Bucky’s check in and Steve was already receiving reports from Hill and Natasha that linked Hydra to the attacks at Berkley. He sat at one of the tables in Tony’s workshop—the only place he trusted that he wasn’t being watched—and read through the files Natasha brought.

“How did we miss this before?” He questioned.

“Sometimes all it takes is a small piece of the puzzle to reveal the entire picture,” Natasha replied.

“Or someone is giving us pieces, because we’re not getting it fast enough.”

Natasha’s lip curled up. “You’re getting better at this Rogers.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

 “The Mr. Miyagi mysterious kung-fu teacher thing,” he said. “The one where you just give me cryptic responses like you always know more than I do.”

Instead of looking chastised, Natasha appeared amused, which was only more frustrating. “Mr. Miyagi? Sounds like someone’s been working on that movie list from Sam?”

“It takes my mind off things.”

 “I only do it because of course I know more than you, Steve.”

Steve let out an irritated breath. There was no point in trying to convince Natasha to just be frank with him. He still wasn’t great at the espionage part of the job. That was all her, though Barton seemed to be able to play the game just as well sometimes. Steve just had to trust she would fill him in on anything that could mean life or death. Now that Hydra was involved, it seemed they were quickly approaching that line.

“Hydra started as a science division,” Natasha said. “It makes sense that they would be interested in our scientists, especially when ours are closer to the recent alien incidents. Foster is directly involved with Thor, most likely privy to knowledge the rest of us aren’t, and Selvig was directly involved with Loki and the Tesseract.”

“They tried to kill Foster in California. That doesn’t make sense.”

“Taking out the competition?” Natasha suggested. “Or…they weren’t trying to kill Foster. Maybe the mission was to take out the bodyguards and then grab Jane and Darcy.”

His brow furrowed. The simple mission he’d sent Bucky and Lewis on, was becoming more complicated by the second. He stood, flipping the file closed. “I’m calling him back.”

Natasha followed him toward the door. “Don’t you think they should stay on Selvig’s trail?”

 “There is no trail. Not right now. Bucky said Lewis isn’t sure where Selvig could have gone; they have no leads to keep looking for him. We’ll need to get someone else on this that can track him down. Then we can send in a team to retrieve them if he’s still alive.”

“Barnes is a capable tracker. The lead hasn’t gone cold—when the intern wakes up they can question—“

“They’re coming back to New York, Romanoff. End of discussion.” Steve pushed past her and headed toward the elevators. “I’m not risking two civilians getting killed or captured for the sake of this mission.”

“You mean you’re not risking your best friend for the sake of this mission.”

 Steve stalled just before the elevator, watching the Black Widow’s reflection disappear and reappear behind him as the doors opened and closed. He moved his head and tossed a warning look at her from the corner of his eye.

 “Come on, Steve,” she reasoned. “You’re letting your emotions drive your decisions. I thought you were getting better at this.”

He spun on his heel and charged back to her. Steve didn’t normally use his height and build to intimidate, especially when it came to Natasha, but this was one of the rare moments that her secretive antics and teasing jabs stopped being amusing and started pissing him off.

“I’m sorry if I’m not as unfeeling as the Black Widow when it comes to what we do,” he snapped. “No, I don’t want to send Bucky into a situation that involves Hydra. I’ve tried to keep him away from anything involving them since he came back.”

 “Bucky isn’t the center of the world, Rogers, there are more important things going on and unfortunately, he’ll have a role to play. He can’t play it if he keeps running. None of us can. Something is going on here. First Bucky showing up, Fury disappearing, the Samaritan…don’t you see it?”

Steve regarded her suspiciously. Again he had that feeling that she wasn’t being one hundred percent transparent with him. “What aren’t you telling me?”

 “I’m telling you exactly what you need to hear,” was her cryptic reply.

 Steve bit his lip, holding back the urge to snap in frustration. “They have twenty four hours to get a fresh lead, then they are reporting back to New York.”

.

.

.

.

.

Rain had begun to fall over the green, lush countryside. Darcy could hear thunder rolling outside of the Quinjet. It was a sound that had always calmed her down as a kid. Lightening made her nervous, thunder made her feel brave. Perhaps that was why she’d gotten on so well with Thor.

Ian had been unconscious for over an hour. He was still laying down, handcuffed to one of the med-bay cots, dead to the world. Darcy had found a corner of the jet to carve out some semblance of privacy while she tried not to be so mad. She pulled out the things she’d taken from Erik’s apartment in haste, things that seemed important. She hoped she hadn’t missed something that could have been valuable to their search.

Without much else to do, she began cataloguing Erik’s data from the journals she took. Erik had a short hand code, the same as Jane. They were both old fashioned like that. Darcy had learned to decipher their weird chicken scratch when she’d first taken the intern gig.

Bucky was in the cockpit. She could here him talking with Rogers, reporting in on the status of their mission, as she translated dates and locations and weather reports from Erik’s writing. It sounded like an argument ensued, Bucky’s words were quick and short, his voice firm, but she couldn’t hear enough to make out what was being discussed.

When she heard silence, she assumed the call had ended, and decided to stop being a stubborn asshat. They’d cooled off in their separate corners of the proverbial ring and now it was time to talk.

Her anger over how he’d handled the whole situation with Ian had ebbed, especially when she realized she was more afraid than angry. She didn’t love that he’d threatened to shoot him or hit him over the head, but she was willing to step back and figure out what the hell was going through his mind before she flipped out again.

She found him sitting in the pilot’s chair, watching the rain fall.

 He’d pulled his hair back, tying it off at the nape of his neck. Her eyes caught the faint scar there, one that was very similar to Ian’s injection scars. Without making the conscious decision to touch him, her fingers brushed against his skin, feeling the small lift where the scars were. He tensed and she stilled, before snatching her hand away, realizing the intimacy implied behind the contact.

“The KGB and Germany did experiments using drugs to control their soldiers, before they discovered more efficient ways to manipulate the mind.”

He didn’t look at her as she took the co-pilot seat next to him, lounging back and draping one leg over the side of the arm. “That’s why you recognized what was going on with Ian. They did it to you, too.”

“The drug irritates the skin and leaves a mark,” he told her. Darcy recalled the way Ian had been scratching at his neck since he arrived. Bucky must have noticed and put two and two together. “It’s worse the more times they use the injection site. His might fade in a decade or so, if he’s only been injected a few times.”

Darcy turned her head to the window, not wanting to intimidate him by staring, but she kept watch out of the corner of her eye.

“I’d wake up at checkpoints, no memory of how I got there, blood on my hands, bruises I didn’t remember getting. They’d inject me, give me orders, and I’d carry them out until the drug wore off every time. It could see the evidence of the nightmares plain as day, but I couldn’t ever remember them. I had no willpower under the influence, I did anything and everything I was told without question or hesitation.”

Once again, Darcy’s heart broke for her friend. A thousand feelings of hurt and anger boiled down into a single encompassing thought: he didn’t deserve any of it.

“Hydra can go fuck themselves,” Darcy muttered.

“That’s one way of putting it,” he replied.

“What I don’t get,” Darcy continued. “Is why they’re so invested in my love life. I mean, Ian was going on about how confused he was over our break up, and I’m guessing he was drugged into dumping me. But I don’t get why.”

“They’re after you,” Bucky said. “They’re after all of you. Selvig, Foster, even him,” he nodded in the direction of where Ian was sleeping. Explaining the new information Steve had reported from SHIELD intelligence. “They’ll use whatever methods they can to draw you out.”

“Well they’re in for a rude surprise if they ever capture me, I’m just a lab assistant. And not even a good one. I don’t know anything about science.”

“I was just a sniper. A guy from Brooklyn,” he said, with the saddest look Darcy had ever seen. “I’m sorry. About all of this.”

“Are you kidding me? I’m the one that dragged you into this…needing to look for Erik. Dealing with Hydra is the last thing you need to worry about. If I had known…” He wasn’t looking at her. He wasn’t listening to her. Darcy moved, crouching low in front of his knees, wedging herself into what little space there was in front of his chair.

“Hey,” she said, taking his hand—the metal one—and forcing him to look down at her eyes. “This isn’t your fault. Not at all. Okay? If you’re right, and Hydra is trying to get to Jane or Erik through me, that is definitely not your fault.”

His head listed to the side as he listened to her words, his eyes studying her face. “You were about to say the words, back there in the apartment. The ones I taught you. But you hesitated.”

“Yeah, I—uhh—“

“Why did you stop yourself?”

“It’s not the first time I’ve been in a room where you were holding someone at gun point,” she grinned, hoping to make light, but he wasn’t smiling. “Your eyes.” That seemed to confuse him even more. “Remember the first time we met? You were holding up a gun and you were angry, trying to protect yourself. And that night with the knife? You’re looked furious, but there was a robotic kind of thing going on with your face. Like you were trying to be intimidating and scary but weren’t really feeling it.”

“And earlier?”

“You looked afraid. Even in your files that the Samaritan dug up and the footage of you in your armor on the highway with Steve, you never looked afraid. You always looked…intimidating, determined, cold, but here was no actual emotion. You never…you never looked afraid of what was going on or what you were about to do. I don’t think The Asset or The Winter Soldier or whoever you were knew how to feel fear.”

“I was afraid,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “I was scared for you, doll. So scared. I was scared that kid in there was going to reveal himself as an agent, turn around, and kill you. I was imagining the twelve million ways you could get hurt in less than three seconds. I was waiting for other Hydra agents to bust their way in and tear us apart. I was trying to think of how I could get us out of there, keep you safe, take you away and hide you because I can’t even think about you getting hurt or I just--”

He bit his lip hard, cutting off his own tirade.

Darcy’s heart crashed against her chest and she swallowed against the emotion lodged in her throat. “Damn, Barnes. I think you’ve said more in the past ten minutes than you have in the past year.”

Bucky stole his hand away from her grasp and moved to cup her cheeks between his palms, guiding her up as he stood from the pilot’s chair. Darcy didn’t dare breathe as he looked down into her eyes. She was absolutely certain that he could see everything she didn’t want him to see. All the things she thought about him, all the feelings she felt--feelings that she didn’t even know if she should be feeling. Was it okay to fall in love with him?

It was a stupid question.

Darcy was already there. She’d crash landed into love for this man a long, long time ago. In spite of the fact that he was broken, that his past dictated so much of his future, that he’d pretty much shut her down already…she still…

She was an idiot. And she was praying to any deity that might be listening that he couldn’t tell.

His thumb brushed across her cheekbone and she watched his lips fall open.

 _Please kiss me_ , she thought. Just once. She’d never ask for anything again as long as she lived. She stop complaining to Jane about science lectures and would never mention her lost iPod ever again.

“If things were different…” he whispered, his face close enough that she could feel his breath on her lips with every word he spoke. “Fuck it.”

This was it.

He squeezed his eyes shut and Darcy braced herself, making sure she was alert and aware, and prepared to commit every moment of what was about to happen to memory. Something told her that Bucky was letting himself steal a single moment, letting them have something for the briefest of seconds, before putting his tentative feelings back in the box and that box up on a shelf to collect dust.

Thunder rolled over them and it in no way drowned out the way her own heart pounded in her ears.

She let her eyes fall shut as his body pressed closer to hers and dared to draw in a single, short breath just before…

“Hello…? Is anywhere there…?”

Ian.

The tinny echo of his voice bounced from the back of the jet to where they stood in the cockpit.

Bucky moved back before his lips made contact with hers. He was still looking at her, the heat and resolution gone from his blue eyes, replaced with regret. They missed their stolen moment and now it was gone, forever, never to be seen again.

Bucky dropped his hands from her face and retreated. She could practically see him putting their missed moment in a box, just as she thought, as he turned from her. Darcy tried not to feel like he was taking the entire world with him as he walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for notes!
> 
> There's so much happening plot wise in this story! There's basically two stories sort of interweaving. I love the challenge of writing intricate plots. It's a little difficult in fic, because you don't often have a chance to go back and edit yourself or toss out things that aren't working or retroactively snip threads. I worry that sometimes I get boring and confusing...so if you're feeling that while reading...I promise I'm doing my best to make everything make sense!
> 
> Also, I really love slow burns. The more I write fic, the slower my slow burns gets haha I try not to be too slow, because I realize that fic is a little indulgent and we wanna get to the good stuff. I also realized that I've written about 60,000 words and not even a kiss. I'd love to hear your opinions on slow burns if you feel like leaving a comment!
> 
> Finally, Datura. It's a real thing. I fudged the science and history a little bit. Watched a really good documentary on Vice about the drug and it's some scary shit! I also read a small bit on some Nazi mind control experiments and the drug (or one of it's derivative forms) were used. Please excuse my stretch of science and history!
> 
> Thank you all for reading, commenting, kudo-ing and all that! It means a lot!
> 
> follow me on tumblr at marvelouskatie


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the patience guys! Notes and chat time at the end :)

"Ow!" Ian hissed. He swatted at Darcy's hand at the back of his head, where she was attempting to clean up the streak of dried blood across his hair.

"Sorry," she winced, using a more gentle touch with the alcohol pad in her hand. The knock out hit from Bucky resulted in a small cut and Darcy was doing her best to help clean it. Thankfully blood didn't make her squeamish. At least, not in small amounts.

Ian sat on the cot in the corner of the jet that served as the med-bay of the jet. Darcy had pulled a first aid kit from one of the gray lock-boxes fixed to the wall. She'd snickered when she found Iron Man branded band-aids inside and debated with herself as to who was responsible for the not-so-official supply of bandages.

It was a little difficult to pull focus. Ian was quite while she played nurse and her thoughts drifted back to the cock pit. Back to warm breath and the closeness of soft lips. The smell of leather and the sound of her own heart pounding in her ears and the feel of his fringe brushing against her cheek as Bucky--

"Ow! Darce!"

"Oh, shut up! Stop acting like such a kicked puppy!" She snapped. Ian's shoulders dropped and he picked at a piece of fuzz on his jeans.

She sighed, feeling just a little bad for yelling at him. She was being unfair when he was hurt and had just awoken to the very bad news that he'd been an unaware Hydra mole and it wasn't his fault that she was currently very confused and frustrated over the assassin doing _ yet another _ flight check at the front of the plane.

They lapsed into awkward silence as she finished taking care of him.

"The handcuffs were a bit much," Ian muttered as Darcy put her supplies back in the first aid kit.

"Can never be too careful," she quipped. "You're obviously a secret Hydra agent that was planted to spy on Jane and I in London and relay top secret science info back to the evil powers that be."

"I don't even know what Hydra is," Ian sighed, rubbing a hand over his tired and pale face.

Darcy took pity on him, realizing that he was now roped into a shit storm that he'd tried like hell to avoid, ever since his brush with adventure months ago. Worse, it seemed to be against an enemy that wouldn't die no matter how many times Captain America and the Avengers tried to put them down.

"Okay, everything I'm about to tell you is super top secret classified. Like seriously, I only know because I'm super nosy. I'm sure if S.H.I.E.L.D. knew that I know what I know that I'm absolutely not supposed to know then they'd throw me in some deep dark hole and throw away the hole."

Ian blinked at her. "What?"

Darcy took a deep breath and gave him the run down of what most of the general public didn't know. Well...she gave him the Cliff Notes version. Most American children studied Captain America and the Howling Commandos in primary school, but British born Ian wasn't super familiar with the World War II tales of gallantry and heroism and science that helped stop Hitler and save the world. She started there. Adding in a few classified details about Hitler's secret science division and Red Skull. She rounded out the story with the resurrection of Steve Rogers just before the Battle of New York and finished with a brief mention of the myth of The Winter Soldier.

"You're telling me that that man with you is history's most deadly assassin? And he isn't entirely stable?" Ian gulped, wide eyed of the imagined possibilities of how their semi-violent encounter could have gone down. "He almost killed me."

"Trust me, there's no  _ almost _ . If he wanted to kill you, you'd be dead." Darcy was mostly teasing. The freaked out look on his face was priceless. He was such an easy mark.

He blew out a long, tired breath, shaking his head again to work through the fog in his brain and the mass amount of information. "I guess we've solved the mystery of our breakup. I told you the whole ordeal was a bit spotty."

"Yeah, I guess Hydra didn't ship us," Darcy laughed. "Still weird they were at all involved in our love lives."

"Or maybe they were hoping to get you to come out here?" Darcy shot him a confused look. "Think about it. Someone's breaks up with their girlfriend out of nowhere, that girlfriend might want to know what the hell happened and might even be so distraught that she flies across an ocean to figure out what the hell happened."

Another shot of guilt coursed through Darcy. It had never even occurred to her to figure out why Ian had broken up with her. She'd taken the dumping with a certain shot to her pride and a certain amount of anger. If Hydra was trying to manipulate her, they'd pegged her all wrong. She hadn't cared enough about Ian or their relationship to fix it. She'd just taken the news, accepted it, and continued on. She didn't even cry over him. They way Ian said it, made her realize that if the situation were flipped, things would have been different. Ian would have come to her.

Was she that heartless? She hadn't even cried over him after he'd broken up with her. She'd started hanging out with Bucky on the Saturdays she'd spent with Ian instead.

Ian looked down at his feet and glance surreptitiously back up at her. "I'm guessing there's no chance of reconciliation? Unless you and he are...?"

"No, that's not a--we're not togeth--no," Darcy stuttered, half hating that she couldn't say differently. "We're friends."

"But?"

"But..." She wasn't the nicest person at times, she realized, but she wasn't completely heartless. The truth was, her feelings toward Ian and Ian toward her had never been balanced. The other truth was that she could think of someone she would jump on a plane for. Hell, she'd probably swim across the ocean if the situation called. But her closure with Ian wasn't about that. "Do you really think we belong together? We're two very different people who wants very different things for their lives. You said it yourself."

"Ah," he replied. "The whole 'it's not you, it's me' story."

"Exactly, it's not me, it is you." She couldn't resist the cheap shot. It took him a half second to catch up with her word play, her lip turning up into a sly grin.

Ian snorted and threw an arm around her shoulder. "Cheeky."

Darcy let the boy pull her into a friendly hug, glad that he was way nicer than her and that everything between them would be okay. She tucked her nose against his shoulder and breathed in his familiar smell. The first time she'd kissed Ian, they been in the middle of a battle. He'd saved her life and she'd gotten caught up in the moment, in the romance of it all, and laid one on him.

Their relationship began with a bang and ended with a sizzle, she concluded with a wry smile.

As if sensing his presence, her eyes flipped up and caught Bucky as he turned away from watching them.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

“Agent Romanoff.”

Natasha was greeted by the hologram of Alexander Pierce inside of Stark Tower’s concealed communications room. It was official business, so Natasha stood at ease in the center of the room in her usual uniform.

Even though the hazy image, Natasha could detect the twinge of something around his crinkled eyes. It wasn't exhaustion, though that's what he was trying to pass off. His suit looked too pressed, his face too fresh, to be truly bedraggled by Fury's disappearance or whatever it was that he was claiming weighed heavy upon his shoulders.

Natasha had liked Pierce when she'd first encountered him. He wasn’t easily manipulated by sexual allure, which impressed her. Most red-blooded, heterosexual men were easy for her to read and manipulate. Pierce had never looked at her as anything other than an agent and always regarded her in a professional manner.

On the other hand, he was a politician and his devout humility was a constant cause for suspicion.

Not to mention he was much too upset over Fury's assassination--or disappearance as she liked to call it to Steve and Clint. She refused to believe that Fury was dead. Deep down, her heart didn't want to imagine that Nick Fury wasn't an immortal god.

“Secretary Pierce,” she gave his transparent image a respectful nod. “I recieved your request for a call. What can I do for you?”

“We’re alone, right? What about Stark’s AI?”

“I assure you, sir, this is a closed communication. I’ve seen to it personally that not even Stark will have record of our discussion.”

Alexander nodded, seemingly pacified. “I apologize for the secrecy. Truly, I’m not sure whom I can trust at this juncture."

Natasha remained silent. He was laying it on thick. “I haven’t always been the most trustworthy of agents, Secretary.”

“No,” he admitted. “But Fury always trusted you. He was a good judge of character. I trusted him, he trusted you, therefore…I trust you, Agent Romanoff.”

She wanted to correct him. Fury didn’t trust her, not completely, not in the beginning. It was Clint who’d convinced him to give her an inch and over the years she’d gained what she could from the man. He'd been a man who's respect and admiration she'd truly wanted to earn.

Pierce continued. “I know that you’ve been looking into the assassination on Fury. That you believe he's disappeared rather than dead?"

"In this line of work, I've learned that unless there is a body, it's safe to assume that a target is still at large."

"I, too, have been doing some recon on my own.” Natasha kept her face neutral, wondering what resources he used to do his so-called recon. “I believe that Rogers’ friend may know more than he’s telling us.”

Now Pierce was getting to what he really wanted to talk about. And of course it wasn't Fury. Bucky Barnes was the man of the hour. “As far as I’m aware, Sergeant Barnes’ memory on the finer points of his final missions are a bit…lacking.”

“Perhaps because Captain Rogers lacks the will power to fully extract the information we require,” Pierce fixed her with an unmistakable look. “Do you understand my point?”

“I do, sir.”

“Then I’m trusting you, Agent Romanoff, to do what needs to be done. There’s something going on within S.H.I.E.L.D. I need to get to the bottom of it.”

“Of course.”

With a quick nod, Pierce cut the connection. Natasha used the moment of isolation to take a breath, pulling out her phone to type a quick text. Clint would probably be back in a few days.

She'd miss seeing him. It was hard not to realize that it would be a while before she would be able to come back. Depending on how deep she got. Maybe it was better.

 

_ Tell Steve I’m sorry. _

 

The subtext was there. Neither of them were all that comfortable with heartfelt confessions and long goodbyes. Maybe that's what made them a terrible match. Or a really good one. 

She slipped her phone away and pulled a thumb drive from her belt, popping it into the computer in front of her. She set about erasing the conversation with Pierce, backing it up to her personal files first. Pierce had unwittingly told her everything she needed to know and it was time to make her move. The unfortunate part was leaving Rogers on his own. Her fingers paused over the keys. He was slow on the uptake and would need some help. It was a gamble.

Her phone vibrated.

 

_ Tell him yourself. _

 

She continued typing and with a final click, pulled the thumb drive from the USB port. Her phone vibrated again.

 

_ Be careful. _

 

Slipping her phone back into her pocket, she threw open the door to the room and almost ran into—

“Easy there, Catwoman,” Tony said, noting her suit with the shift of his eyes. “What’s going on?”

She'd needed someone to help Steve and that help had just jumped right into her path. She quickly manufactured a look that told him she was up to something, but trying to hide it. Because she was up to something, but she definitely wasn’t trying to hide it.

“I didn’t realize you were in the tower,” she replied, side stepping his question, putting just enough nonchalance in her statement to sound suspicious.

“Guess I’m getting better a sneaking around. Maybe I’ll try my hand at espionage if the whole Iron Man thing doesn’t work out,” Tony looked down at the flash drive in her hand. “What you got there?”

“Something for Steve, actually. Would you mind giving it to him?”

Natasha pressed the small piece of metal and plastic into Tony’s palm, not waiting for a reply, before she stepped around him and continued down the halls.

“I’m not an errand boy,” he snarked. “Any reason you can’t do it?”

She turned, still walking backward, and threw him a coy smile. “No, no reason at all.”

Tony opened his mouth to question her again, but she twirled, and slipped into the stairwell before he had another chance to respond.

 

.

.

.

 

“Oh my god!”

Bucky rushed back inside in the jet at the sound of Darcy’s alarmed shout. She’d been in the back, working with Boothby. Bucky had left her there with him. Everything had seemed okay. He didn’t seem likely to suddenly turn and try to hurt her on some latent Hydra order.

“Agggh!” He heard her groan and his stomach dropped.

He shouldn’t have left them alone. He knew how deep mind control could run and how it would turn its ugly head at the worst of times. He ran up the ramp of the jet, fully prepared to ripped Ian off her and tear him to shreds. He knew—

He stopped when he rounded the corner. Ian’s head snapped up, but the boy was on the opposite side of the plane from where Darcy sat, smacking her palm against her forehead.

“Why didn’t I see this before?” she moaned and then looked up at him, realizing he was there. “Bucky!”

His metal palm gripped the steel beam of one of the upper bunks, his body sagging in relief. His heart was still trying to pound out of his chest from the damn coronary her shouts had almost given him.

“What’s going on?”

“I figured it out!” She beamed, shooting up from where she’d been sitting, waving a map in front of his face. “While you’ve been doing engine checks, I’ve been getting my Sherlock on. Erik has been storm chasing, because the portals or whatever are probably giving off some sort of energy or sucking some energy and weird weather things are happening.  Jane said she didn’t know how Erik was tracking the portals, but this is how! He’s been reading weather reports! What’s the matter?”

She cocked her head to the side, noticing the half annoyed-half relieved look he was giving her.

“I thought—“ he breathed and then stopped himself. The sound that came out of his mouth was half chuckle, half groan as he tried to shake off the lingering worry and concentrate on her revelation. “Selvig has been chasing storms?”

“Yeah. He’s been monitoring irregularities in weather patterns. Actually, changes in temperature to be precise. Look here,” she waved him over to the notes, setting the map down so she could reference between them. “Summer snows in Halsatt, Odense, and this other weird place in Greenland that I can’t even begin to try to pronounce.”

“So, we know where he’s been,” Bucky said. “How do we figure out where he’s going to go?”

Darcy flashed him a triumphant smile. “Elementary, my dear Buck-son. I crossed referenced some of the areas he’s been monitoring, based on the logistics of the ones he’s already visited and narrowed it down the most likely choice for his current location.”

Bucky fought the urge to roll his eyes at her antics. Darcy really loved proving just how smart she could be. “Okay, doll? So where is our guy?”

“Reine. In Norway.”

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

“Romanoff is hiding something,” Tony announced, barging his way into Steve’s apartment.

Steve had just come back from a grueling thirteen mile run on the treadmill. Grueling not because it tired him out, but because he would never not hate running on the treadmill.

All he wanted was a shower and a few hours of sleep. He had argued with Bucky over extending his mission time in England. Bucky insisted they needed more time to find Selvig and that Lewis was working on something. It wasn’t that Steve didn’t think finding Selvig wasn’t important, he felt badly for the man if he was in some sort of trouble, he wasn’t heartless.

He didn’t like the idea of Bucky out there without backup. He was thinking of figuring out a way to get there himself. When he proposed the idea, Bucky very colorfully told him to stop worrying, calm down, and stay there to keep an eye on Foster in case she tried to make a break for it again, reminding Steve that he could take care of himself.

That didn’t make him not want to jump on a plane and fly to England, no matter how bad of a pilot he was. Bucky shouldn't be chasing down anything involving Hyrda alone.

“Hello, Amber Waves of Grain? Are you listening?”

Tony was waving a hand in front of his face as he bypassed his living area and headed straight for the bowl of fruit on his dining table. Steve wondered who kept it full of fresh fruit. Unlimited amounts of food was still something he was getting used to in the new time period he found himself in.

“No, I’m not,” Steve replied as the billionaire plucked a shiny red apple from the bowl and gave it a giant chomp. “What happened with Natasha? Why do you think she’s up to something?”

“When is she not up to something?” Tony countered around his chewing.

Fair point. Also, Steve already suspected that Natasha was up to something. Tony dropped down onto Steve’s couch and kicked his feet up onto the coffee table. He looked around the apartment, taking another bite out of his apple. Steve stood nearby, hands on hips, trying and failing to make his displeasure at Tony's presence known.

“You really haven’t done much with the place, Cap. The decorators did a hell of a job but you can at least pretend like you live here. I don’t know maybe hang up your own American flag, Dodgers pennants, you know…whatever it is you’re into.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Tony,” he said,exasperated. Usually it took a little more than five minutes in Tony's presence to truly get him riled up, but it had been a long day. “What about Natasha?”

“Oh, right,” Tony hopped up and pulled something out of his pocket. He held a little piece of plastic into the air.

“A flash drive?”

“Yep. She asked me to give it to you. Before doing that mysterious slinky walk away thing that she does that's supposed to be distracting, but of course I'm in a committed relationship so I hardly noticed.”

“Of course you didn't.” Steve retorted, knowing full well how little Tony noticed despite being with Pepper Potts. How she put up with it, Steve didn't know. She was a saint, in his opinion. Steve held out his hand to accept the drive, but Tony snatched it away, stepping around him beginning to pacing back and forth.

“Natasha asked me, to give you a flash drive,” Tony repeated. He was like a child who needed constant attention sometimes.

“I don’t—“

“Steve,” Tony stopped walking and fixed him with an annoyingly smug look. “You barely know what a flash drive is. You can barely turn on a computer. Why in the hell would Romanoff tell me to give  _ this  _ to you?”

Steve sucked in a breath and blew it out. He had no answer for that and shrugged. That reaction seemed to satisfy Tony, who clearly wanted to explain whatever conclusion he’d already made.

“She didn’t want you to have it, she wanted  _ me  _ to have it.”

“Oh, right, that’s why she asked you to give it to me.” Steve made a grab for the flash drive again, but Tony pulled back and was already spinning away.

“I’m glad you’re keeping up,” he said going for the door. He jerked his head in the direction of the hall when Steve didn’t follow. “Come on, we have work to do.”

“Tony, all I want right now is a shower and some sleep. Maybe some food.”

“I’ll have JARVIS order something, what’s your favorite? It’s been awhile since we’ve done shwarma. JARVIS?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Can you get some delivery set up for Steve and I? We’ll be in my workshop.”

“I believe I overheard the mention of Mediterranean?”

“Actually, JARV, make it Italian. It looks like the Cap has been hitting the gym, he’ll need to carb up.”

“Whoa, wait,” Steve demanded. “What are you talking about? What is going on?”

Tony sighed, a disappointed look flashing across his face. It annoyed Steve, being looked at like the slow kid in the class, and it was a look Tony taunted him with all too often.

“Natasha gave me this flash drive to give to you knowing that you wouldn’t know what the hell to do with it. I, on the other hand, brilliant being that I am, will know exactly what to do. But she wants us to play nice and work together on whatever it is she’s hiding here. So, Italian?”

Steve looked down at the flash drive in Tony’s hand. He hated being in the dark and he hated not being able to do anything about it. He hated that he wasn’t in England, making sure Bucky was okay, helping to find Selvig, or doing much of anything to figure out what the hell was going on. The flash drive was a torch in the dark. If having something to point him in the right direction of figuring out what was going on with Natasha and maybe Hydra and Bucky, too, then he'd deal with Tony's teasing for a bit and work with him.

“Alright, Italian.”

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

“You’re sure you won’t come with us?” Darcy didn’t feel right about leaving Ian behind, even if he did insist that it was what he wanted.

“I’m sure, trust me,” he replied.

Somehow, in their remote section of Scotland, S.H.I.E.L.D. had been able to secure transport for Ian. There was an agent and a nondscript car waiting for him while he said his goodbye. The agent reminded her a little of Coulson, maybe a bit younger, but same suit and sunglasses. It must be standard issue, she thought wryly, watching the man check is watch for the thousandth time in a minute.

Because Ian was considered non-essential by S.H.I.E.L.D. he'd been given the choice of going to a safe house or wherever he thought might be safe. Much to Darcy's chagrin, he'd chosen the latter.

Her mouth twisted. “But what if they come after you?”

“I have mates I can stay with, I won’t be alone.”

“But what if—“

“Darcy.” Ian set his hand on her shoulders and she clamped her mouth shut. They’d been having the argument for almost a full hour, after Bucky had agreed to make the call to Steve who in turn contacted S.H.I.E.L.D. for their help in securing Ian's next move.

She would concede to Ian’s decision to try to run and hide from whatever Hydra goons had been using him, but then would think of another argument to persuade him into coming with her and Bucky instead.

“I have a life. I have school. I have friends and family. I’m not ready to drop all of that,' he told her. Darcy made a petulant face and looked away from him. “Look, I know I’m not a super hero. But this is my way of fighting. I won’t let them ruin my life or make me scared to live it. I won’t let some jumped up asshole dictate how I live.”

“Well, I think you’re being stupid,” she groused.

Ian chuckled and it only irritated her more. “You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t disagree. Vehemently and rudely." Darce frowned at the criticism but Ian only gave it with affection. "It’s okay, Darce. I stopped trying to make you understand me months ago.”

She wanted to say argue more or defend herself, but bit her tongue, and said what she wanted to say with a pointed glare. “Fine. Give me a hug.”

Ian wrapped his arms around her and Darcy squeezed him tight, honestly hoping that it wouldn’t be the last time she got a chance to do so. She didn’t trust Hydra not to hurt him and didn’t have the confidence that he seemed to have that they’d leave him alone now. She wished he was more cowardly or more brave, whichever it took to make him change his mind and come with her instead.

He wasn’t her boyfriend, but he was still her friend, and a good, brilliant guy. She wanted to protect him and she couldn’t do that if they were miles apart.

“I’ll keep checking in, I promise,” he said as he dropped a kiss to her hair.

“Don’t forget,” she replied, pulling away. “One more thing. Stay here.” She ran back into the jet and grabbed the one thing that she could give him to protect him, running back down to meet him at the end of the ramp. “Here.”

Ian’s eyes went wide at the object she shoved into his hands. “Darcy, I can’t take your Taser.”

“Yes, you can, and you will. Have it on you at all times and don’t be afraid to fire it if someone weird gets too close. Even if you think they’re weird, just fire it anyways. You can’t be too careful. And don’t open the door or talk to strangers. And don’t go anywhere you can’t be in a crowd. Don’t forget to check in either.”

“You always did sound more like my mother than my girlfriend always bossing me around,” Ian quipped and made a face as soon as he realized what he said. Darcy also cringed.

“I’m sure there’s some psychology joke in there somewhere.”

“Ugh, yes. Or something about Greek tragedies, ” he moaned, dragging a hand down his face. The awkwardness quickly slipped as the finality of the moment slipped back between them. Darcy stared up at him and offered another wane, unsure smile.

“Take care of yourself, too.” He said.

“Oh come here,” Darcy grabbed his arm and pulled him into another hug, giving him a kiss on the cheek for good measure and hoping with all her heart that he would be safe.

.

.

.

 

Bucky wanted to give them privacy but couldn't help eavesdropping sitting in the jet while Darcy and Ian said their goodbyes. His journal was opened in his lap, pen in his hand, metal finger sweeping over the Polaroid picture that was taped to the page. It was one of the first he’d taken of Darcy, after she got him the camera and taught him how to use it. It was added to his journal almost immediately, in the pages he reserved for her.

The first things he’d written about her were right after he’d started therapy. They hadn’t been friends then. He’d pushed Darcy out of her life, wanting to protect her, after he’d had an episode and almost killed her. He'd been warring with himself as to whether it was a good idea to cut off their fledgling friendship. In a life lived where everyone had been a potential target or threat--even his best friend--she was an anomaly.

_ Good. _

_ Beautiful. _

_ Irritating. _

_ Protect. _

He hadn’t been so good at writing forming complete thoughts back then. Even now his journals tended to skew toward random words, sentences, and doodles. Nothing that would make much sense to anyone that didn’t know him closely, which amounted to Steve and Darcy.

The picture of her was over exposed, her skin appearing whiter than normal, the rich mahogany of her hair washed out, her lips not quite the ruby color he admired and thought about kissing more times than he wanted to admit. Ever since their night out, when she took him to Brooklyn, showed him his old home, fed him pizza, and made him feel like he could really be a new man...not the guy he used to be or the weapon that existed now.

He'd almost kissed her. It was a mistake and a moment of selfishness. He was still trying to figure out how to control the raging emotions in his life, still trying to balance the anger and sadness and guilt and emptiness with the the things that she brought along. The laughter and friendship and...possibility of something more.

Bucky didn’t know what that more was yet. He meant what he said when he told she was important. Next to Steve, she was the most important damn thing in his whole life. He'd die for that girl, no doubt in his fucked up mind. That was easy to admit. But she deserved more than to be some broken guy’s experiment in humanity.

“Hey,” she said, her footfalls announcing her presence before she appeared in front of him.

“Hey,” he returned, his mouth twitching into what he tried to pass as a half smile. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Your friend gone?”

“Yep," it was clear by the purse of her lips that she had a lot to say about that, but was holding back. "Ready for take off?”

Bucky closed his journal, keeping it carefully angled so she wouldn’t see the contents, and unfolded himself from the bunk. Worry dimmed her eyes and he itched wipe it away. “He’ll be okay.”

“You don’t believe that and neither do I,” she said. “But it will be the first time I’ll be glad to never say ‘I told you so’ if he is.” She pushed at her glasses with a sniff. “We’d better go. Ian’s made his choice and I have another friend who maybe needs rescuing.”

Bucky nodded and she followed him to the cockpit. JARVIS set a course, the wheels went up, and they were on their way to Reine and hopefully, Erik.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was an interesting chapter to write, because characters started talking to me. And that character was Ian. And he was telling me that he really didn't want to go with Darcy and Bucky because he was too scared and wouldn't be much use anyways. I tried to reason with him, saying that it wasn't exactly safe, and he has a greater chance of dying if he stays than if he goes. He wouldn't listen and insisted that he didn't want to tag along to gawk at everything the others did. I hope he finds some nice to hang out with and Hydra leaves him alone! Good Luck Ian!
> 
> Thanks again for the patience on this update. Things have been busy in real life. I also got sucked into outlining and scene planning for this fic which is SUPER FUN for me, because I get to do things like make myself go "awww" and "ahhh!" and laugh maniacally at the things I have planned. Not fun for you because you don't actually see any of it yet. So...things planned! Big things! And also am probably going to try to cut chapters to maybe 2000-3000 words so I can get them out a little quicker. 
> 
> Finally, I've also been rereading some of this fic for continuity and remembered Bucky's journal. And also saw a post on Instagram written by Sebastian Stan about his own headcanon for Bucky having a journal. Thanks for the inspiration Seb and thanks for being the cool kind of actor who does head canon stuff like that and shares with fans!  
> xoxo
> 
> ps...wishing you all lovely days and lots of love and virtual hugs!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been almost a full month AFTER I said I was going to do shorter bits and try to update faster. Ugh! I am disappointed in myself.
> 
> I hope this chapter isn't totally boring. It was a little bit difficult to write because the next couple of chapters are when we get to some SUPER EXCITING THINGS :)
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> p.s. Will explain some canon changes at the end!

"This is...unexpected." 

Tony's head tilted to one side, a confusion and curiosity coloring his features. It was the usual combination of the two, that sometimes led to wild inventions and impulsive plans, but the kind that came along with worry and uncertainty.

Steve sat up, setting aside the container of food he'd had in his lap. Tony had been decrypting Natasha's flash drive with JARVIS's help for the better part of an hour, while Steve had enough spaghetti and meatballs to feed an army. Unfortunately, he couldn’t contribute much to the technological investigation. Steve understood very little of anything the inventor and the AI were saying to one another.

"What is it?"

He stood, to once again peer over Tony's shoulder, after having been shoed away a while ago for hovering and asking him to explain every other thing. Usually Tony was happy to flaunt his knowledge, but he cited it would take him twice as long to get into the flash drive if he kept having to pause to explain everything to Steve.

"I'll show you." 

Tony tapped the virtual buttons along his screen. Steve couldn't even begin to understand how they worked. He'd only just started to become accustomed to how normal computer units functioned. Tony's fancy, customized set up that included more symbols that actual letters was leagues away from what he would ever be able to understand. 

Tony flicked his wrist from the screen to the air and Steve was enveloped in a sea of blue light. He stared down at his chest, letters, lines, and numbers illuminated across his white t-shirt. Spinning around, he took a few steps back, staring over the holographic image that Tony had spread out over him. 

"It's a blue print." 

"I see that," Steve replied. "Of what?"

"Cerebus," Tony answered, as if the name explained everything. Tony circled the blue print, squinting at numbers, sliding through images with a flick of his wrist through the air. 

Steve mirrored his steps, following the circle around the image. "It looks like one a S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier."

"It is, only...cooler." Tony replied with a certain amount of personal pride. "After the Chitauri, S.H.I.E.L.D. started working on a bigger line of defense. I helped tweak a few things." 

Steve lifted a brow in his direction, taking his statement to mean that he offered his unsolicited advice.

He examined the plans a little closer as Tony flipped through, proudly pointing out his upgrades and modifications to the S.H.I.E.L.D. carrier. The helicarriers before were just that…carriers. Transport vehicles. Air support. They weren't weapons. The new invention Steve saw had guns…that went beyond defense. There was a lot of heavy artillery. The style and scope of the guns, it was like having the power of thousands of snipers in a single ship. 

"We need something to protect the world, Steve," Tony explained, picking up on his censure. "It's not just us out there anymore." 

Tony’s eyes were a bottomless ocean of fear. Seeing the raw emotion from a man who usually covered everything with snark and sarcasm made Steve uneasy. Tony was a man who thrived on knowing everything, on knowing more than everything, of surviving and beating back the evil of his world solely based on the power of his brain. The moment the sky opened up and aliens attack, Tony lost his place in the universe he thought to be fixed.

Steve felt it too; a man out of time, catching up to a world had grown beyond his understanding. Trying to find his place, adapt, fight, survive.

Still, Steve wasn't sure they were looking at a solution to any potential threats in Cerebus.

"How many of these exist?" From sheer size, one seemed like an impossibility.

"None," Tony answered, much to his surprise. "Fury dangled the idea to me before...and it just never lifted off the ground. The plans were archived. I kept my copies, of course."

He hit a key on the key screen and the blue print images disappeared.

Steve crossed his arms and stared at the vacant space where the image had been. “Why is Natasha hanging onto this?”

“That’s not the only thing on here, Cap,” Tony brought another file into the middle of the room.

It was a video of Natasha, speaking to Alexander Pierce. Steve listened to their conversation about Fury. It wasn’t a surprise to Steve that Natasha was doing her own investigation into the assassination of a man she saw as a father figure. But she knew that Bucky was the one to pull the trigger and that he was a weapon of a resurrected Hydra.

Were they really resurrected though? It seemed like the evil organization hadn’t ever died. While Steve slept, they lived on, and almost destroyed his best friend in the process. They were still out there.

_“As far as I’m aware, Sergeant Barnes’ memory on the finer points of his final missions are a bit…lacking.”_ Steve’s ears perked at the sound of Bucky’s name, followed by his own. _“Perhaps because Captain Rogers lacks the will power to fully extract the information we require. Do you understand my point?”_

Steve glared at the holographic reflection of Pierce, not liking the implication in the look on the man’s face.

 _“I do, sir,”_ Natasha replied.

 _“Then I’m trusting you, Agent Romanoff, to do what needs to be done. There’s something going on within SHIELD. I need to get to the bottom of it_.”

Realization crashed over him and he didn’t hesitate. Steve rushed toward the door to the workshop and ran toward the lift. “Jarvis! I need a jet.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Tony jogged to keep up with him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“You heard her. This was a warning. They’re going after Bucky.”

“Slow down, Steve. They aren’t going after your bff.”

“They been after him for months. Pierce has been trying to get me to bring him to D.C. They want to take him down for everything Hydra _made_ him do. I knew this day would come.”

“So what are you gonna do?” Tony questioned. “Run away together, be fugitives, head across the boarder and grow matching incognito beards? As romantic as it all sounds, it’s ridiculous.”

“He’s my friend, Tony. I can’t let him take the fall for this. I can’t let them get to him. I should have never brought him here.”

Tony stepped in front of Steve’s path into the lift. Steve glared down at him, his chest puffing out. “Let me through.”

“Take a second here, okay? You’re right. That video is a warning from Romanoff, but think about what she’s actually warning us. Romanoff is stalling. Pierce and his cronies, they think that the Black Widow is going to do their dirty work and haul in the criminal they’re so desperate to incarcerate, but why now? They’ve known where he is for months. Living in the tower only offers so much protection. It’s not like they couldn’t send in a hundred jack booted thugs to come grab him anytime they wanted. He was a card to play. An ace in the hole. And now they want to play him…but why now, Steve?”

Steve didn’t have an answer for that. But it did bring up another question on his mind from Natasha’s video. “Pierce said something was going on with S.H.I.E.L.D. and that he wanted to figure out what it was.”

If something were going on within S.H.I.E.L.D., Steve would need to know about it. Given who he was, he should be the first in a line of need-to-know people. At least, he should have been, he thought. When Fury was still around, he’d been sent out on covert missions left and right. And then Fury was killed and Bucky appeared and Steve was…distracted. His commitment to his friend had blinded him to the changes happening right under his nose. Natasha had been paying attention.

Steve wasn’t going to regret shifting his focus to Bucky. But he’d been blinded for too long. For the time being, Bucky was halfway across the world. He was safer out there where no one but a few choice people in the tower knew. Gritting his teeth, he knew he couldn’t play into the hand he was being dealt.

“You’re right,” Steve muttered.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Tony asked, cupping a hand to his ear.

Steve sighed, knowing he was in for a world of sass from Stark. “I said you’re right. Something is going on and whoever is behind it is trying to make sure I don’t know about it. Whatever it is, we need to figure it out before Pierce.”

.

.

.

.

.

.

The clouds dispersed just in time for the sun to melt away, striking a fiery blaze across the horizon. The quinjet glided along the clouds, perfectly hidden amongst the wispy clouds. Darcy squinted, looking out the windshield, studying the colors of the sun rays stretching out across the sky.

They'd lifted off around an hour ago to make their way to Reine. Bucky disappeared once they were in the air, letting autopilot take over. He'd set a course and they made plans for an in-flight refuel meet up. Due to all the unplanned stops, they were literally running on empty. Luckily, they were able to connect in the middle with another S.H.I.E.L.D. plane to refuel and not loose much time. Time was of the essence in getting to Erik, considering the question of his safety still went unanswered. No one had heard from him still.

In spite of being inside a small plane, Bucky seemed to be doing an excellent job of avoiding her. She was sprawled in the co-pilot's seat, legs propped on the console, and headphones snug in her ears, letting her favorite band drown out her thoughts.

She hadn’t realized she’d been napping, until she felt a hand on her shoulder. Startled, she ripped out her ear buds and looked up to see Bucky hovering over her. 

"We'll be in Reine in about a half hour," Bucky told her. 

"Okay." 

She expected him to move away quickly, but he lingered, staring at her. Darcy rolled out the tension in her shoulders. She was an adult. She could be adult about everything. There was no reason to be weird about the fact they seemed to keep having all these near miss kisses. 

In the spirit of adult hood she decided that she'd pretend the problem didn't exist and just maintain total and complete denial. Oh, and she would force him to bring it up first. 

"Anything else?"

"Come here." Bucky nodded his head toward the back of the plane, a motion to follow him. 

Darcy slid out of her comfy position in the chair and followed his lead back to the cargo area. She watched the area between Bucky’s shoulders as she strolled behind him, his footballs the only sound breaking the silence that lingered between them. They hadn’t had a chance to discuss what didn’t exactly happen between them before. Darcy had been busy with her research and taking care of Ian and Bucky had been busy flying a plane and brooding.

She wasn’t sure if it was just her or if he was being extra broody since their almost kiss.

“You gave the kid your Taser,” Bucky said over his shoulder.

“I’m a little offended that you keep calling him ‘kid’. He’s six months older than I am,” Darcy folded her arms, stopping next to where he stood. God, did he think of her as a kid, too? That would certainly be the worst.

“You don’t have a weapon.”

Darcy scoffed. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not really the type of girl you give a gun to.”

Bucky gave her an arch look. “I’m not giving you a gun,” he replied, snorting at her affronted look. “Maybe one day I might, if I have time to teach you how to shoot.”

Darcy took the mention of future plans as a good sign. The awkwardness of the collected almost kisses wouldn’t drive a wedge between them.

He pulled out a small black case, flicking open the heavy closures. Darcy peeked over his shoulder, trying to get a look at what was inside.

“For now, you should take this.”

Darcy’s brow furrowed at the heavy, black metal object he shoved into her open palms.

“I thought you said you weren’t giving me a gun?” Her nose curled up at the gun. Tasers were cool in her book, they were more defensive than offensive, but Darcy wasn’t all that comfortable with the idea of carrying around something that had the power to kill.

“Stop making a face,” Bucky sighed. “It’s not a gun. You can’t kill anyone with this, unless you shot them multiple times.”

“I’m not a super soldier or spy or anything but…barrel, trigger, bullet holder thingy—

“Magazine—“

“It looks like a gun.”

“It’s an I.C.E.R.,” he explained. “S.H.E.I.L.D. exclusive weapons tech.” He took the not-a-gun from her hand and opened the magazine, pulling out one of the bullets and holding it up between his thumb and forefinger. “It emits an electric shock, like a Taser. It will disable a target long enough to secure them or escape from them. No killing.”

Darcy nodded in approval and took the weapon again, feeling the weight in her hand. “Expecting a lot of threats in a small, remote fishing village?”

“I’m not taking any chances,” Bucky replied. “Not with you. This mission has already provided more surprises than I’m comfortable with.”

“I know what you mean…”she muttered. Bucky grabbed her hand, showing her just how to grip the I.C.E.R. folding her finger so it hovered just over the trigger. She looked up and caught his gaze. Something unreadable flashed there, but it was gone in a second, as the autopilot informed them they would be making their decent.

Bucky let go and skirted around her, making a beeline back to the cockpit. The touching, the mysterious looks, the closeness…Darcy held it in just long enough for him to disappear and then let her head drop against the wall of the plane with a loud bang.

“Ow,” she moaned half heartedly, rubbing the self-inflicted bump on her head. “You are in so much trouble,” she told herself. “You’ve got it so bad.”

.

.

.

.

.

Darkness settled over Reine by the time the jet landed and Darcy was starving. Her stomach growled the entire ferry ride over to the island and no offense to Erik and the mortal danger he was probably in, but all she could think about was food.

Well, food and her nervousness over Bucky.

It was a three way tie, really.

While they’d been in flight Jarvis had taken the liberty of securing them accommodations. Reine was a tourist town and they were easily book under fake names, staying in a small converted fisherman’s cabin. It was a get away from it all type of place, one room, with a small stove, ensuite bathroom, and no television.

Darcy wasn’t at all a get away from it all type of girl. But at least it came with modern amenities like running water and it wasn’t camping.

Thankfully, she was buds with Tony Stark and had access to supped up Wi-Fi, so she was still getting service on her phone.

She hoisted her bag onto the single queen sized bed in the room and thought back to the way the little old lady that shown them the cabin referred to them as “Mr and Mrs. James.”

 _Thanks a lot for that, Jarvis_.

Taking in the comfy bed, the tiny room, the non-existence of privacy, a million terrible rom-com scenarios raced through her mind. It wasn’t terrible to imagine what bed sharing could lead to, only if the fact that none of her PG-13 fantasies would never come true. And the wanting hurt more than the fact that rejection was inevitable.

Bucky had rules about them sleeping in the same place, for her safety and his sanity. So she was sure bed sharing wouldn’t actually become a thing.

With a heavy sigh, she grabbed a lone pack of crackers from her bag to sate her overwhelming hunger, and refocused her thoughts. They were here for Erik, to make sure he was safe, not to have romantic interludes.

But if she accidentally saw Bucky after a shower, in nothing but a towel, it wouldn’t be a total crime.

She sighed again.

“What’s with all the dramatic sighs?” her travelling companion asked.

“Just…worried for Erik,” her stomach growled again. “And hungry. I need sustenance.” Darcy pulled up a map on her phone. “I found this guesthouse not too far from here.” Bucky walked over to her, standing close, looking down at the screen. She tried to keep her breathing normal and ignore how much she wanted to lean into him. “Erik might be staying there considering it’s budget friendly. And there’s a pub attached that hopefully has a kitchen. What do you think? Two birds, one stone?”

“Let’s go,” Bucky nodded. He held the door for her and locked up the cabin, tossing the keys to her for safe keeping.

The air was cool, but not cold. A surprise considering they were in the Arctic Circle. Bucky remained vigilant as they continued up the hill toward the guesthouse. They were both quiet, more from exhaustion than awkwardness.

Every star in the clear night sky was visible to them as they made their way over the rocks and grass and dirt. Darcy had been living in New York for a while; she’d forgotten what the night sky was really supposed to look like. It had been almost two years since she’d been sitting out on the desert rooftop, with Jane and Erik in Puente Antiguo. The two scientists would gaze at the stars, discussing particle data or some other subject beyond Darcy’s scope of understanding, while she thumbed through her iPod or studied for her eventual return to school and focus on Poli-Sci. Back then, her biggest problem being where she wanted to go to grad school.

As they crested the hill, Darcy was amazed to catch sight of green, swirling light in the distance. She stilled and stopped to watch the lights in the sky wave and twirl and dance. She hadn’t even realized or thought that they’d be close to the Aurora Borealis.

After a few steps further, Bucky realized that Darcy was no longer at his side. He looked back, momentarily alarmed, and saw her watching the light show. He moved back to her side, turning to stare in the same direction.

“Have you ever seen them before?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he answered. “I don’t think so. You?”

Darcy shook her head next to his shoulder. “It’s pretty rare. Vikings believed the lights came from the shine of Valkyrie armor. Or that it was from the Bifrost Bridge when the Valkyrie’s came to lift fallen warriors to Valhalla.” Darcy recalled the tales from her massive amounts of research on Norse mythology. The corner of her lip twitched as the green changed from lime to emerald on her face. “If Jane were here she’d remind us that they are the result of electrons colliding with the atmosphere.”

It was a good moment, surrounded by reflective silence and awe, the two of them staring out at the wonder of science and myth. Her breath caught, feeling pressure against her hand at her side. Not wanting to break the moment or scare him off, she didn’t dare look down to confirm that Bucky had gently threaded his fingers into hers.

           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I apologize for anything I got wrong about Reine. I did bare bones research. If I had time/got paid to do this, trust me I would definitely dig in and get everything correct!
> 
> Second, I really needed to write some Steve/Tony team work. Even though I'm writing this sort of with a canon-ish tone...I've changed some things, so I appreciate you guys rolling with it! Sooo, Cerebus is basically Project Insight. But with a twist. So I've probably said this a million times that I'm pulling some story points from canon, but switching some stuff up!
> 
> Three, I'm an atrocious speller.
> 
> Four, I love y'all.
> 
> follow me on tumblr at MarvelousKatie !!!!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey loves! So this is definitely a shorter chapter than usual. I did say I was going to try for shorter chapters and quicker updates. PLUS, I'm moving this week, so pretty busy times and not a whole lot of time for writing. Instead of dragging it out another couple thousand words, I decided to go ahead and throw this your way. 
> 
> Hope it's cool. Like you guys. You guys are cool :)

The rest of the walk up toward the hill was silent. Darcy’s hand remained within Bucky’s grasp as they made their way through the small village and to the guest house. Given the developing circumstances of their mission, he'd begun to assume and prepare for the worst. Every moment was bolstered by worry and the instinct that something was looming. If he were on this mission alone or with Steve or Barton, he wouldn’t be fretting as much. They could hold their own against any Hydra spies or other enemy agents.

Looking over at Darcy, in her olive coat and beanie cap--same maroon shade as her lips--he had more than a few worst case scenarios in mind. No doubt that Darcy would give anyone who tried to hurt her hell, but how long would she last with nothing more than the ICER and her wits? He didn’t put too much stock in God, but being a former catholic boy, he prayed that her abilities wouldn’t be tested.

They walked into the small foyer of the guest house and Darcy--direct as ever--approached the desk attendant with bright hello. Once she was sure the man spoke English, she introduced herself as Erik's daughter, and asked where she could find him, fabricating a story about worry and his not answering his cell phone and she had "big news" nodding her head in Bucky's direction and giving the man a wink.

Bucky smirked her theatrics pushing away some of the darkness of his churning thoughts. It was clear the man had no intention of being cagey about his guests. He pointed up the stairs and offered Selvig's room number.

"He keeps unusual hours," the man told them causing them to turn back at the foot of the stairs. "He might be sleeping at the moment. Spends days in bed and only comes down late at night."

Darcy nodded and smiled and continued up the steps. Bucky followed.

The stairs they climbed were old and creaky, covered by a well worn dark blue carpet. Landscape paintings from different artists attempting to capture the beauty of the Northern Lights decorated the walls. There was no single style to any of the art, possibly gifted to the landlord by various visitors throughout the years.

In spite of the ease of their entry, he kept his eyes peeled and senses alert for any trouble. The corridor was narrow and Selvig's room was at the end. Bucky stayed on Darcy’s six, hovering close, ready to be a shield if anything or anyone jumped out of one of the rooms to surprise them.

Darcy stopped in front of the door that belonged to Selvig and Bucky positioned himself in way that he could best react for whatever waited beyond the door. All of the rooms had been quite. It was possible Selvig was sleeping on the other side of the door, just as the desk attendant told them. It was also possible that Hydra soldiers or agents waited on the other side.

Darcy seemed equally aware of the possibilities, pausing before she knocked. Bucky placed an encouraging hand on her shoulder. Her eyes remained on the door as she nodded, her confidence found once again, his hand dropping as she raised hers to knock.

Three short sounds.

Three seconds passed.

Five.

Nothing. 

Darcy frowned and tried again.

This time they heard shuffling and steps. Tension curled around them and Bucky thought of the knife tucked at the back of his belt then the SIG hidden within his jacket.

The door cracked open an an eyeball peeked out flicking around wildly. Bucky caught the alarm as it made contact with him and switched to Darcy, recognition immediately hitting the person behind the door. A full head poked out, the white tuft of hair over the older man’s forehead floating up and down as the door swept open.

"Darcy?"

"Erik!"

.

.

.

.

Relief flooded her when she realized Erik was perfectly fine. It turned out that in his single mindedness, he'd forgotten to bring along a charger for his phone, and had been using the guest phone to make any necessary calls. Darcy rolled her eyes and fully planned on giving him a good maternal type lecture about worrying them and science benders and responsibility.

Her old friend welcomed the two of them inside, casting cautious look's in Bucky's direction. Bucky had covered his metal arm with a hoodie, jacket, and the usual black glove, but he looked intimidating regardless.

"Who’s your friend, Darcy?"

Erik sounded warm and compassionate no matter what he was saying. Darcy had always appreciate that about him and understood why students at Culver loved his classes so much. He was great at explaining things and encouraging even the most resistant of science students--Darcy included--to open their minds.

Ever since Loki though, a weariness in his tone had appeared and seemed to pop up whenever he was around strangers. Darcy had noticed it when they’d reunited in London.

"Dr. Erik Selvig, meet Sargent James Buchanan Barnes," Darcy introduced proudly. Bucky watched the scientist’s expression flicker and knew right away that Selvig had recognized his name. Weary curiosity gave way to interested curiosity.

Selvig shook his hand firmly. "Excellent to meet you, Sargent."

"So, Erik," Darcy said, pulling the tension out of their meeting. "What's going on in science land? Why are you in Reine?"

She kicked back into one of the easy chairs in the room, folding her hands behind her head, and putting her feet up on the coffee table. The guest room was set up similar to their cabin room, more like a studio apartment than a regular hotel room. Bucky made a study of the room, looking for any odd or out of place. The curtains in Selvig’s room were shut, in spite of being on the second floor, and the wondrous view just outside of his windows.

All of the nervousness melted away from the man as he launched into a recap to Darcy of his studies in the Arctic Circle as the related to his previous research of the portals that Foster had mentioned to Darcy before.

"They emit a great deal of energy, not unlike the Tesseract."

Darcy pushed at her glasses. "Do you think they might be related? Maybe the Tesseract opened up something? Like a door to another realm?”

"It's a theory...hard to say... I'm not sure when the portals began appearing. The Tesseract was on Earth since before 1942, so it’s a bit difficult to pinpoint if the portals were caused by the Tesseract’s energy or not."

He continued his explanation, citing differences between the portals now and the ones from the Convergence in London. He pulled up information on heat signatures, common characteristics, times that they appear and disappear in the same location. The more he talked, the more relaxed he became, genuinely happy to discuss his findings with a new ear.

"This one has remained the longest in a single location, it usually opens a couple hours before dawn. I've been spending my days, observing it, but it's hard to get any solid data. Any equipment I’ve put inside the portal has burned and melted."

"A couple hours before dawn? Does that mean we've got some time for some food and nap? Because I'm hungry and exhausted and that does not make for a happy Darcy."

"The kitchen should be open for another hour in the pub downstairs," Erik told her.

"Perfect," she grabbed Bucky's arm and nodded at Erik. "Meet us down there."

Erik nodded, glancing at the physical contact between the two, considering, and then waved them off. Bucky could sense that Darcy wanted to speak to him out of Selvig's earshot and she proved him right as soon as they were out in the hallway.

"Everything seems fine, but we can't leave him here. If Hydra's after him..." she trailed off, her teeth sliding over her bottom lip in thought. "I didn’t want to say anything and freak him out right away. Did I ever tell you what happened to him during the Battle of New York?"

Bucky shook his head and Darcy launched into the cliff notes version of Erik's personal history with mind control at the hands of Thor's brother, Loki. She mentioned a few details about Hawkeye that surprised Bucky. He didn't know that Barton had the unfortunate experience of losing his agency and being used as a tool and weapon.

He'd always been curious as to why Barton seemed so much more inclined to befriend him and work with him, when others had shied away. Now it made more sense. They had something in common. A shared life experience.

"I know he'll want to stay out and science on his own and keep his head down, but it's just not an option," Darcy concluded. "It's not safe."

It was clear from the frantic look on her face that Darcy had no intention of letting Selvig talk her out of the decision to bring him back to America with them the way Ian had.

"We'll talk to him," Bucky reassured her. "Let him know it'll be temporary. It'll be okay."

He threw an arm around her shoulders and led her through the lobby and into the pub to get his best girl some food.

Bucky tensed. It was enough of a change in his body language that Darcy, who tucked into his side, noticed and shot him a look as they approached a booth. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," he said, letting her slip from his arm and into the booth seat across from him.

Darcy glanced over her shoulder mistaking the tension for something else. “Do you see something?” she whispered across the table, ducking her head.

“No, all clear.”

She stared at him hard for a moment, trying to decide if he was lying so as to avoid freaking her out before letting it go.

Once her eyes were off of him, he reestablished the guard and distance from before, reminding himself that Darcy and him...it just couldn't happen.

"So here's the plan," she said grabbing a menu from the edge of the table. It was worn card stock, laminated and taped and reused many times. "We go check out this portal thing, take photos or video or whatever Jane might need, and then we take Erik and haul ass back to New York. Sound good?"

"Sounds like a good plan to me," he replied, yanking down the zipper on his jacket and hoodie.

It was warm in the little pub, a small fire burning toward the other end of the wide room, two rocking chairs set out in front of it. His hand flexed in his glove. He'd just have to deal with the warmth. He didn't need his arm drawing attention.

As Darcy perused the menu for food Bucky turned his attention to the people at the bar. A few patrons were scattered among the stools, a single woman behind the bar, flipping through the pages of a book and tending to empty beers when needed. The drinkers all looked like locals to Bucky's eyes, dressed in a variety of flannels and boots and jeans that had seen better days.

"Would it be wrong to grab a beer? Or would that be considered drinking on the job since we’re technically on a mission?" Darcy questioned stretching out her arms and dropping back against the old wooden seat. "Because I could definitely use a drink."

"I won't tell if you won't, doll."

The response earned him a smirk. She bounced out of the booth and over to the bar to order a beer and some dinner. Bucky overheard her making the sure the order was for two. The waitress-slash-bartender nodded and relayed her order to the kitchen window.

Bucky kept an eye on Darcy as she waited for her beer. She drummed her fingers against the bar, none of the drinkers seemed to pay her any mind at all and a few moments later, Erik appeared in the doorway to join them as they ate their dinner.

Unfortunate for the trio, Bucky’s eyes were turned away from the small window at his back, at the other end of the pub, and the dark eyes observing them between the shades.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse any gratuitous spelling and grammar issues. I wrote this on the fly and it has not been betaed.
> 
> Also, if you don't mind taking a moment for a comment? I fell behind responding to all the lovely comments on the last chapter, but I'll be back at it again for this one. Encouragement and love and knowledge are always welcome :)
> 
> feel free to follow me on tumblr at MarvelousKatie <3


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really bad at this whole updating more frequently thing aren't I? I blame moving then birthday then vacation. I had this one worked out pre-vacation, but it's a little bit of an important chapter so I needed extra time to obsess. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy ;)
> 
> Thank you my love Erin (theskiddlyboop) for helping me with this one!

The long day and slight jump in time zones was catching up with Darcy. A belly full of food and a rather large beer added to her on set of lethargy. Bucky nudged her a few times as she nodded off, before Erik suggested she head up to his room to grab a nap.

Before she settled in, she decided it was time to call Jane and check in. Of course she was relieved to hear they were all safe, Erik included. Once their well being was established, the scientist went into science mode as Darcy gave her the rundown of what Erik had told her.

"I wish I could be there myself," Jane groaned. "I should be there. I can only explain so much to you and Erik about what to do and if you had some of my equipment. We were not prepared for this."

Because they were on Facetime, Darcy could see the exasperation in Jane's expression.

"Still under lock and key?" Darcy inquired.

"Rogers is completely avoiding me, coward," Jane scoffed, bringing a mug to her lips. "I did my best impression of you and tried to nag him into letting me meet you guys--"

"There's a compliment in there somewhere."

"I even suggested that he come along. But no," Jane sounded like such a teenager, Darcy had to bite back a laugh. "He's being such a Nazi about this whole house arrest thing."

Darcy's mouth fell open. "Jane, did you just call Captain America, Steve Rogers, celebrated World War II veteran, the man who punched Hitler in the face over 200 times, a ‘Nazi?'"

Jane faltered, her mouth opening and closing a little like a stunned goldfish. "Yes...ugh! You know what I mean!"

After Jane reminded her no less that five times to call her again when they reached the portal, she finally let Darcy off the phone.

Darcy looked over at Erik's comfy looking full sized bed, with it's oversized pillows and soft quilt. She realized she couldn’t remember the last time she showered or washed her hair. The days had blurred together. How many days had it been since that morning with Ian in Erik’s flat? So much had happened in twenty-four hours.

Sleep flying from her mind for just a little while longer, Darcy decided to take a shower before she headed into nap-land.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Bucky’s metal fingers wiggled restlessly in his lap, where his hand lay hidden under the table. He watched Darcy retreat upstairs, her back moving away, and suppressed the urge to follow, not wanting to let her out of his sight. He forced himself to stay in the pub with Erik, knowing that she would appreciate some alone time to decompress and rest.

Erik slid back into the booth the three of them had been sharing. Darcy and Erik shared a sort of uncle-niece type relationship. He had inquired about her life at the tower, admonished her about her incomplete schooling, and shared bits and photos from his own recent travels. The conversation was light and appealing, in spite of the tension hanging over all of their heads.

“Here,” Erik said, sliding a pint glass his direction as he took his seat again, grunting when his joints protested the bends required to sit once more. Bucky stared at the amber colored beer, watching the foam at the head recede into the glass.

"Not a drinking man?" Erik asked.

Bucky lifted a shoulder and shook his head, but picked up the beer and took a sip all the same.

"Not a talking man, either?"

"I'm sorry, sir."

"No need to call me, sir. Erik is fine. We're friends now." The older man shifted against the uncomfortable seat.

_Friends_ , he claimed. Bucky had known the man no more than an hour and--just like Darcy--Selvig was already offering him, a complete stranger, more than he probably deserved.

"It's interesting," he continued. "How those of us who have seen the most and who need to speak of it, often have very little to say." He paused for a gulp of beer, letting out a refreshed "ahh" out at the end of it. "I know who you are. I don’t mean to startle you; I just recognized your name and your face. My partner served in Vietnam before he retired to be a history professor.” A fond smile touched the corners of his mouth. “It was because of his enthusiasm, I knew the names of every one of the Howling Commandos in addition to their life stories. He was very fascinated with all of you, I hope you don't mind me saying. He wanted to write a book eventually, but..."

Selvig trailed off in the way that implied everything Bucky might need to know. The man wouldn't have a chance to write that book, or do any of the other things he'd had planned for his life, because he wasn't around anymore.

"He was approached by S.H.I.E.L.D. in 1985. They didn't seem all that concerned about...well, you know...our lifestyle. It was different then, especially for a man in the military. Sometimes I hated them for the secrecy." Selvig's fist clenched, resting on the table top. "Colin was always so much more honest and open in a way that I could never be. The nature of the organization, it took some of that honesty away from him." 

"Did he..."Bucky tried, his eyes ducking to the table and back up again. "Was it because of S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

"What? Oh no," Selvig continued, understanding his question. "Cancer. Late stage, in '89. There was nothing to be done."

Bucky almost wanted to say congratulations instead of offering his condolences. He couldn't remember a time when someone close to him hadn't been murdered or killed in action. When had death from a terrible disease become a blessing instead of something to curse?

"One of the things he used to say to me was 'fear is the starter pistol to life's greatest moments,'" Selvig grinned. "Picked it up from one of the men from his platoon. I don't know...he liked to say it to me a lot. I wasn't as honest or open as he was, about so many things about myself. It took me a long time to come around. So much of it wasted, in retrospect. There was no reason...not one that mattered, really, when it came down to it..." He trailed off again and Bucky watched the emotions play over his face. Wrinkles, both from pain and from happiness, marking the years of his life upon his brow. "We were friends for fifteen years, together for four. Some of them were more difficult than the rest but I wouldn't trade a second. I would go back and tell my younger self to get my head out of my ass and realize life is short..." 

Selvig smiled at Bucky. "I suppose that's not true in your case. Life has been very long. You must be hedging 90 by now."

"Pushing a hundred,” he replied.

Selvig made an impressed sort of noise, which made Bucky's lip twitch in amusement. He decided he liked Selvig.

"You should get some rest yourself," Erik told him. "You look just as exhausted as Darcy. I'll hang around down here for a while." He waved Bucky up and off, insisting he would keep himself busy and out of the way, visiting with the local regulars that came through every night.

Exhaustion was something he was still so used to ignoring. With his handlers, exhaustion never mattered. Missions, training exercises, would still be completed or else. Bucky could tread across the country, heavy limbed and starved without stopping. He knew that because he’d been forced to try.

Erik shuffled away to socialize with the locals. Without much else to do or a distraction, Bucky wandered upstairs to check on Darcy.

The door to Erik's room was cracked open, slight enough that the extra light poured into the hallway. That wasn’t right. Immediately, his hackles rose. He did a quick, mental arms check. Wearing his civilian clothes meant he was armed with only knives. Bucky reached down to his boot, sliding one from the sheath hidden inside.

He glanced over his shoulder, making sure the hallway was clear, ears stretching out into the room just in case someone was hiding in their waiting for him.

Slowly, he toed forward, pushing the door open with his free hand, the old wood squeaking slightly on the hinges. He didn't see any signs of struggle. No overturned furniture, no forced entry through the windows, no scuff marks on the carpet.

The bed was still made, which meant Darcy hadn't made it to the bed.

His stomach plummeted.

He shouldn't have left her alone.

Just before he spun to check the hallway for signs of her disappearance, he spotted her jacket hung over the chair. The same olive one she'd been wearing earlier. Her hat was also on the table.

So she _had_ made it to the room.

A splash in the bathroom caught his attention, his wide eyes snapping to the closed door.

Bucky moved forward, knife still poised for attack. He thought about calling her name, but didn’t risk giving away his position. The squeaking door would have already alerted anyone to his presence. Whoever was on the other side, couldn't see him and wouldn't be ready for the moment of attack. Bucky would get the advantage of surprise.

In one swift motion, his foot slammed into the knob.

The wood splintered and the door snapped open. Darcy screamed. Not because she was in danger, but because she was naked, in the clawfoot tub, soaking in a wash of bubbles.

"WHAT THE HELL BUCKY!" she screamed at him. 

A memory slammed into him fast and hard. A dare from the other boys his age, to peek at the girls changing rooms at Coney Island beach. Steve was there with them. The girls had screamed, they had laughed, and Sarah Rogers had given them both the tongue lashing of the century.

"BUCKY!"

Darcy second shout of his name brought him back to the present. No longer frozen in place, he turned, knocking his cybernetic elbow into the door frame, taking out a chunk of the wood trim. It was the least graceful, least calculated collection of movements he’d made in seven decades.

It was also the first time he blushed in almost seventy years, too.  

The door was mostly broken, but he grabbed it and swung it closed as much as possible to give her privacy. By the time she'd pulled on a robe and made an appearance in the common area of the room, Bucky's embarrassment had morphed into frustration.

"What the hell, Darce?" he demanded her, sounding more Brooklyn than he had in a long while.

"Excuse me?" She screeched back. "You're the one who barged in on my bath-slash-nap time."

"Didn't you hear me come in?"

"No! I had my earbuds in."

"I thought you were going to take a nap!"

"I was but I felt like shit and then saw a claw foot tub which is, like, my dream, so I decided to relax but that's shot to hell now--"

"The damn door was unlocked and half open--" That was an exaggeration, but the more they went back and forth, the more worked up he got, the knot of worry and fear still tied tight in his chest.

"The lock is old. I probably didn't shut it all the way."

"You can't just leave the door unlocked. Christ, doll, anyone could walk in!"

"What the fuck are we arguing about?"

Bucky stopped, slamming his mouth shut, jaw clenching as his chest puffed in and out. He wanted to yell more, to unleash all the fear that had built in the minutes since he’d stepped up to the open door.

When she spoke again, her tone was lighter, more patient. She stuck out a calming hand. "We're fine. No one knows we're here. You paranoid, old man."

Uncomfortable in the glaring silence, unrelenting in the staring contest that continued between them, Darcy folded her bottom lip behind her teeth. And that was it. Bucky was done.

_Fear is a starter pistol for life's greatest moments._

It took him two steps to close the distance and one hand to reach up and brush across her lips with his thumb.

"W-what are you doing?" she asked.

"I'm kissing you," he answered and crushed his lips against hers.

.

.

.

.

.

Darcy was still asleep in the tub. That was the only explanation. She was asleep and dreaming because there was no way in real life that Bucky was actually kissing her.

His lips, brushed against hers, forceful. Once...twice...

She couldn't move. Why wasn't she moving?

Bucky sensed her stillness and drew back, an unsure look crossing his face.

"Did I--"

Whatever short she'd been having in her control center corrected itself. Before he could finish the question, Darcy was sliding her hand behind his neck and pulling his face back to hers.

He met her lips again, with whatever desperate enthusiasm had him destroying the distance between them in the first place. Bucky was backing her up, one hand at her hip, the other holding the back of her head firmly in place as he ravaged her mouth. The need to breathe had her gasping and Bucky took the moment to taste her further, sliding his tongue between her lips.

Darcy felt him everywhere, she couldn’t help squirming, trying to release the restless energy that had been building inside of her for weeks, trying to pull him closer. Her fingertips pressed into his body, her toes curling with each step back, her knees giving out, and her head going fuzzy. Bucky folded himself over her, enveloping her petite frame into himself. He was so guarded with every step he took, every blink of his eye, rare were the moments when she caught a glimpse of a real emotion on his face.

Seventy years poured out of his kiss. Seventy years of bottled emotion, of things he wasn’t allow to feel, of things he couldn’t feel. Darcy was thrilled to drink it in, realizing the amount of trust that went into the fact that he was holding her, kissing her, dropping his guards and letting his emotions rule his actions.

But it wasn’t just trust she tasted as he moved his lips over hers. What he lacked in finesse he more than made up for in passion. Desire drove him toward her. Darcy knew it well.

“Ow,” she murmured, her backside hitting the dresser behind them. She spared a brief thought to the sturdiness of the antique, wondering how it would hold up if she were to hop on it and wrap her legs around the super soldier in her arms. It was just a little too high for her to scoot on top of without help.

That train of thought was paused, when Bucky flinched away. He still held her, but with a measure of care and worry, as if he thought he was the one who’d caused her discomfort.

“Not you,” she assured him. “Attacked by old furniture.”

Bucky ran a hand over her wet hair. It was his prosthetic hand. Darcy fleetingly wondered how her hair didn’t get caught between the plates.

The quirk of one of his brows made her realize that she had voiced that particular scientific query out loud. Apparently her hazy brain functions had temporarily rendered her inner monologue functions completely kaput.

“Jane is really rubbing off of me,” she muttered, knocking her nose against his. “That I can think of technical aspects of our kissing when I have your lips at my mercy.”

“At _your_ mercy?”

“Please,” she snorted, hoping she sounded braver than she felt at the moment. “You’ve wanted to kiss me for weeks.”

Her heart thudded against her chest. She was joking, but she wasn’t. Their almost kisses had always seemed mutual, but a niggle of insecurity made her wonder briefly if it was just her projecting her own feelings, even encircled in his arms, with his face barely a whisper from hers.

Bucky nodded. His tongue darting to his lips, his forehead knocking softly against hers as he acquiesced to the physical tension that had been brewing between them. It wasn’t just one sided.

“This is a bad idea.”

“Don’t back out on me, Barnes. I’m not the kind of girl who takes rejection with any amount of grace.”  

“I’m fucked up. You don’t deserve to deal with that.”

It almost sounded like he was pleading with her to see reason and to be the one to back away, as if he’d hit his limit of self denial. But Darcy didn’t have self control when it came to the things she wanted. Always another piece of cake when she’d already had two, always another pair of shoes when she’d already spent too much on her credit card. Kissing Bucky was currently squeezing itself to the top of Darcy’s indulgence list.

“It’s not _dealing_ . I’m your friend, Bucky, I’ll always be here no matter what. That’s _my_ choice.”

“It’s dangerous. It could make you a target.”

“In case you haven’t been paying attention, I’m pretty sure Berkley proved I’m already a target,” Bucky frowned at the reminder of her almost getting blown up and she quickly moved on. “Luckily, I’m a small target. Short and petite. Hard to hit.” She fixed him with a serious look. “Any other excuses for why this can’t be a thing?”

“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing…I used to…”

“Like riding a bike,” Darcy wiggled her eyebrows and Bucky winced. But she was glad to see him relaxing, the tension leaving his body. “Bad choice of phrase,” she admitted. “We’ll figure it out together. We already know we make a good team. We’ll take it slow.”

Not giving him the chance to come up with anymore excuses, she pressed her mouth against his once more, drawing his doubts out with her lips. The kiss deepened and Darcy thought that no matter Bucky’s lack of recent experience, he absolutely knew what he was doing. The man was running on instinct and his instincts were way above average.

She did a little mental cheer when his hands flexed at her hips, gripping and hoisting her up to sit on the dresser. He wedged himself between the space of her legs. The folds of her robe began to loosen and Darcy recalled the fact that she was pretty much naked except for the terrycloth.

Reluctant, she eased back from Bucky’s kisses. “If we’re going to take this slow, we might want to pump the brakes a little. I’m still naked under here.”

The raw lust flashing in his eyes and clench of Bucky’s jaw was enough to make her burst into flames. “Slow,” he ground out, swallowing hard, and taking a measured step back from her.

His gaze raked over her and she wanted to slap herself for ever suggesting he stop. Just as she was about to say to hell with it and accidentally-on-purpose let her robe fall open for a little show, a yawn escaped her throat.

It tempered the sexual charge in the air. “You need sleep,” he said, a small smile on his lips.

She wanted to argue, but couldn’t. Carefully, resolving not to let anything slip out, she slid down from the dresser, thankful it held up under her weight. When she emerged from the bathroom again, this time in her clothes, Bucky was still standing in the same spot she’d left him.

Darcy stepped over to the bed and held out her hand, waving her fingers at him to join her. “Come on, we both need sleep,” she said. “And a cuddle.”

Once again, she watched him briefly turn the pros and cons of the past ten minutes over in his mind. The pros must have won out once more. Bucky came to her side. She plopped onto the bed, waiting for Bucky to remove his boots. The knife he’d been holding earlier was at the bedside table, ready to be grabbed at a moment’s notice.

Darcy reached over and turned off the table light.

They both laid back, shoulder to shoulder in the darkness. “I know you had rules about this or whatever…”

“I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me nervous,” Bucky admitted. “You know what to do if…”

_If you attack me in your sleep,_ Darcy thought.

“Yeah, I know what to do.” Maybe it was one too many fairy tales in her childhood, but Darcy didn’t think for a second that Bucky would hurt her, no matter what odd flashback he may get caught up in. He’d stopped himself once before, back when they’d barely begun their friendship.

Darcy didn’t know what they would call this new thing, this new step they’d taken. It felt strong and weird and exhilarating.

Hating how awkward she felt, Darcy swallowed her pride and turned, pillowing her cheek against his chest and wrapping her arm around his waist. Bucky tensed for the briefest moment before allowing her touch, wrapping his arm around her and tucking her further against his side.

“G’night, Bucky,” she sighed, letting her eyes fall shut.

“‘Night, doll.”

He kissed the top of her head and Darcy fell asleep, lulled into dreamland by the steady rise and fall of his chest.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't take credit for "life's a starter pistol..." I read it on a gifset and with some helpful googling found that it's something from Melissa Joan Hart? Or from her show? I'm not sure.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings everyone! It's been a minute. I blame summer and the pull of being outside and doing FUN THINGS away from the computer. 
> 
> I also blame a brief crisis of confidence. Of putting too much pressure on myself and realizing that this is fic and fun and mistakes are allowed and nothing has to be perfect.
> 
> And speaking of PERFECTION...my apologies to any physicists/scientists/science nerds in the room for this chapter. I stretch a few things for my own purpose.
> 
> Thank you to lovely Erin (theskiddlyboop) for being my beta reader on this one!
> 
> **Tiny reminder*** A few people have made comments about canon compliant details in this fic. While it's technically AU, I prefer to think of it as alt-canon. It could fit into canon, sort of. It takes place as if the second half of The Winter Soldier didn't happen (i.e. Fury is still dead/MIA, they don't know about Pierce or Hydra's infiltration of SHIELD, etc., Sam isn't a huge player in the game yet, etc.)

Bucky didn’t attack her in her sleep, much to Darcy’s sleepy chagrin she realized as she slipped back into consciousness. Of course, she was thinking more along the lines of a sexy attack rather than a murder-y one. She rubbed her eye, the dim lighted room blurry without her glasses, and squinted to see the time glowing red from the digital clock on the nightstand.

“You’ve been out for a couple hours.”

Darcy lifted her head to look up at Bucky. She was still draped across him, one leg thrown between two of his, her hips pressed against his thigh.

“Where’s Erik?” she asked, words slurred by sleep.

“He hasn’t come upstairs.”

That meant Bucky hadn’t gotten any sleep. Which meant that he still didn’t trust himself not to wake up and attack her in the middle of the night. They would have to work on that she decided, stretching her arm over her head and letting out an obnoxious yawn. Assuming that their kisses the night before meant that they were actually going to follow through on the tension coiling between them. Darcy would have to figure out a way to get Bucky to trust himself more.

He reached over to the nightstand and picked up her glasses, handing them over as she finished her stretching.

“We should probably get going soon,” Darcy admitted. “As Jane always says, ‘science waits for no woman.’”

Darcy shifted and expected Bucky to move up too, but instead his hands gripped her hips and she yelped as she was pulled down and 200lbs of super soldier rolled on top of her.

“I was thinking about a few things while you slept.”

His eyes flashed, a dangerous playfulness to his tone that Darcy had never heard before. It made her feel light and giddy, a little effervescent bubble of glee growing in her chest.

“What kind of things?”

“This.” Bucky said, lowering his lips to her in the most delicate and teasing of brushes. “And this.” His kiss trailed to her jawline. “And this.” His hand ran up the side of her leg and under her shirt.

Darcy’s hands bunched the sleeves of his Henley and she let her neck fall back, surrendering to his movement of his mouth.

“You have terrible timing.” The chiding tone was lost under her breathless gasp as he nipped at her neck. “We don’t have time for this.”

“This?” Bucky questioned, his tongue running across the curve of her throat where he’d just given her a playful bite. “A little kissing?”

“A little sex.” Darcy boldly corrected.

Bucky chuckled against her collarbone. “Plenty of time for that when we’re back in New York. In a bed that’s a little more durable.”

“That sounds promising.” She lifted his face back to hers and gave him another kiss. “But patience is not my virtue.”

“Virtue ain’t your virtue either, doll.” Bucky made a face when she pinched him on the side for that comment, but he was chuckling, kissing her again, making her dizzy with his laughter and lightness.

It was too good to be true.

“Darcy!”

The door to the room flew open without warning. In half a blink, Bucky had a gun in hand--Darcy had no idea where it came from—cocked and pointed at a gaping Erik. Shock and surprise crashed over her older friend, both at the gun and at the fact that Bucky was on top of her. Darcy was both terribly embarrassed and incredibly turned on.

Almost as quickly as he’d drawn, Bucky rolled off the bed and lowered the gun, looking like a guilty puppy who’d eaten his owner’s favorite shoe.

“I thought we should be leaving soon,” Erik stammered, picking up the slack of silence.

“I’ll wait downstairs.” Bucky was out of the room before anyone could object to his exit.

Darcy let her head fall back against the pillow with a groan.

“I didn’t realize the two of you were together.”

Erik puttered around the room, assembling his supplies and gear.

“It’s pretty recent,” she admitted. “Am I going to get some sort of disapproval?”

Darcy recalled how Erik had not been too keen on the heart eyes Jane and Thor had been throwing each other when he first crashed into their lives. Not that she had the relationship with Erik that Jane did.

“Would I rest better at night if I knew that you and Jane had found yourselves simple, safe partners to settle with?” Erik gathered his hiking boots in his arms. “Yes. But the heart wants what the heart wants, and you could do worse.”

Darcy smirked. “You’re becoming poetic in your old age.”

“I’m not that old,” Erik countered, settling into the easy chair at the end of the bed with a labored grunt. “You should have more respect for your elders.” He slipped off his loafers and tugged on the boots. “And speaking of manners…I would expect you to have more courtesy than to do what you were doing in another person’s bed.”

“Well, a wise old man once told me, the heart wants what the heart wants.”

Erik’s shot her a wry looked and muttered, “Yes, well I don’t think that was the heart that was driving your actions at that particular moment.”

Darcy laughed and bounced out of bed to help him finish gathering his things.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Erik led the way up the unmarked path, away from the warm light of the tiny fishing village, and into the cold night. Above them, the lights and stars danced in the sky. Bucky volunteered to carry Erik’s pack of supplies, sticking close to Darcy, helping her whenever her boots slid on thin patches of ice and snow that littered the path. The combat boots she’d donned were incredibly fashionable, but fell short of practical.

A cold, constant breeze nipped at her ears, and she tugged her beanie down a little further to keep them warm.

“It’s about a twenty minute hike,” Erik called over his shoulder, breathless and pink cheeked.

“Great,” Darcy muttered, longing for New York and flat sidewalks and heat. The mission was nearly at an end. Soon they would be back home. Back in the tower. And back where Bucky could make good on his promise of a durable bed.

“Aren’t you at all curious to see these portals?” Bucky asked, catching her elbow as she slipped again.

“Yes, but that doesn’t stop me from wishing they were somewhere more accessible. And maybe close to a coffee shop with bagels and cream cheese.”

Bucky shook his head, smiling at her grumbles. “I was reading some of Dr. Foster’s papers while you slept,” he told her, explaining how little he knew about astrophysics and gravitational anomalies and most of the things that encompassed Jane’s work.

“Sounds like you fell down the Wikipedia rabbit hole,” she teased. “I didn’t know James Barnes was a science nerd.”

The sound of thunder broke into their conversation, wind picking up speed. Darcy had checked the weather before they’d left—per Erik’s instruction—and nothing in the forecast had mentioned rain. Once again she was painfully aware as to her lack of preparedness for unexpected weather conditions.

“Right on schedule,” Erik stated, looking at his watch. He gave it a gleeful tap.

“Schedule?” Darcy inquired.

It was still too dark to see any clouds and gauge a sense at how soon they might burst. “Oh, it won’t rain,” he said in answer to her weary look up at the sky, “it never does. Lightening, thunder, wind, temperature fluctuation. But no rain.”

The lightning continued as they kept up their hike in silence, the flashes unlike any that Darcy had ever witnessed. She’d seen soft illumination of heat lightening in the desert and the bold, cross strikes of white lightening hitting the tops of buildings in London and New York. What she saw now was static energy, sparkling synapses coloring the sky but never reaching toward the ground. Each bolt of light struck, firing out into little electric streams, playfully chasing each other through the clouds.

The playful beauty of the storm soon took a sharp turn. Thunder crashed and the wind kicked up, Darcy held down on her hat to keep it from flying off. Bucky kept a grip on her arm, half dragging her along, fighting against the steep hill, ice, and gust of the wind. How Erik climbed in his old age, Darcy wasn’t sure, but she wanted to give him a long lecture on not making trips like this alone. 

“We’re almost there,” Erik shouted back, pointing ahead toward the dark entrance of a cave.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Steve never spent much time in labs, even during his brief experience as an American science project. Tony’s workshop didn’t count; it was more like a garage that doubled as a personal playroom. Bruce had set up a temporary lab on the few missions they’d had together, but again, Steve mostly kept clear. There wasn’t much he could offer in terms of scientific thought. 

Bucky had always been the brain-y one. He’d been good at math in school. Science had been his love and he’d dragged Steve to every Stark Expo that came through New York. Maybe Steve should ask Tony or Pepper when they next one was scheduled. Bucky might like to go, it’d be a little slice of old times. Last time they’d gone together, Howard Stark had been pitching flying cars. Bucky might get a kick out of seeing how far the Expos had come.

Nothing in the room looked familiar to him. It didn’t look particularly sleek either, like the clean, white and steel equipment featured throughout most of the SI labs. A lot of the pieces reminded him of the short time he spent working in a shady garage in Queens, before he realized his lungs and carbon monoxide didn’t do well together. Lots of clunky metal and grease and odds and ends put together to make something that worked. He tapped a finger against something that looked like microscope, only a lot bulkier.

“Don’t touch anything,” Foster snapped, “this is all very delicate equipment.”

She was still irritated with him, not that Steve was under any impression that she ever stopped being irritated with him.

“Sorry, ma’am.”

Steve ducked his head and backed away to an area of the room that he was least likely to touch anything. He shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels, while Jane checked the time on her phone and made notes into a journal.

Her eyes flicked up to him and she let out a long suffering sigh.

“At least sit down,” Foster suggested. “Or make coffee.”

Steve chose the latter, hoping the activity would alleviate the awkwardness he felt.

Angry women really were his weakness.

While he waited for the coffee, he began walking around the lab again, examining the star charts on the wall. Planets and stars and constellations that he knew came from myths but none he could recite on cue. He stopped at a sheet that held an unfamiliar name and illustration.

“What’s this?” he asked, pointing at the tree like shape.

Jane looked up and answer. “Yggdrasil. Norse cosmology.”

Steve took another look at the tree shape on the chart, seeing names of planets and stars, some with question marks next to them.

“You’re mapping out a universe based on legend?” He didn’t imagine Foster had much of any imagination beyond the possibility of science.

“Maybe legend, maybe not,” she replied. “In the past few years, I’ve learned I should be expanding my theories on the possibilities of our universe. Maybe it doesn’t look the way we originally thought.”

Considering what he’d seen in recent years, Steve couldn’t argue with that. “How do you map something that millions of miles away?”

“Light years,” she corrected. “Thor started it. He drew the tree when we…umm…when we first met.”

Jane focused hard on her composition book, pink staining her cheeks.

Steve momentarily forgot that this woman was Thor’s--what? Girlfriend? Did Asgardian gods have girlfriends and did they call them that? Thor had asked him—as his brother-in-arms—to watch out for her a time or two. But he’d never seen the two of them interact and got the impression that Foster wasn’t one to flaunt their relationship or use it to her advantage. They’d been in plenty of situations where she’d only have to utter his name as a threat and have any adversary shaking in their shoes. But to his knowledge she never did. 

“I don’t want to come off as rude Captain—“

“It’s a little late for that I think.”

Jane paused long enough to acknowledge that his retort lacked any true vitriol and plowed on. “I don’t have any plans on sharing whatever scientific discoveries made on this mission with S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Are you saying that I’m unwelcome in your lab?”

“Yes. And I am within my rights to have Stark security escort you out.”

“Dr. Foster,” Steve leveled her with a serious look. “I’m not here on official capacity. This isn’t even a S.H.I.E.L.D. sanctioned mission. You can trust that whatever reports or discoveries are noted today, they won’t be passed on to S.H.I.E.L.D. by me.” He stood still, keeping his eyes locked to her as she looked him over, trying to decide if she trusted him or not. “I’m here as a concerned friend, that’s all.”

Placated Jane went back to her notes without comment. When the coffee was ready, Steve brought two cups out after Jane asked for cream only. He perched himself with his black mug on a lab stool and ended up doodling on a piece of paper.

“You can call me Steve, by the way.”

Jane’s head snapped up in surprise. “Jane,” she returned. “Not that you don’t already know that.” She reached over to the water bottle at the corner of the table and twisted the top. “I’m sure your friend is fine. He’s with Darcy.”

“Bucky isn’t always good with strangers. Not since…”

Jane scoffed, which Steve thought was a callous reaction. “They’re hardly strangers. Barnes is in the lab with Darcy all the time. They’re friends.”

Steve’s brow furrowed. Surely she didn’t mean his Barnes? She had to be thinking of someone else. Confusing the two. He opened his mouth to ask, just as her phone rang. Jane’s eyes lit up with frantic excitement.

“Darcy? Are you there? Put me on video!”

.

.

.

.

.

“Okay, okay, chill.” Bucky smirked as Darcy rolled her eyes at Jane’s dramatics. “Thousands of miles away and she’s still bossy as hell,” she muttered to him.

“I heard that.” Jane quipped as the video popped up.

The cave Erik had led them into was dark, damp, and humid.  The jagged walls shined in an odd way under the glow of equipment and fluorescent lanterns that they had brought along. Darcy was no geologist, but she was pretty sure caves weren’t supposed to sparkle like Edward Cullen. 

Water in a dark pool lapped behind them, black and bottomless. She gave the pool a wide berth, creeped out by the fact that there were small waves to begin with, considering there wasn’t a breath of a breeze within the dark cave.

Outside, the weather had been cold and icy, inside the trio was forced to shed layers. Darcy and Bucky peeled off their jackets and hats, rolling up their sleeves as soon as they were inside. The back of her neck was already sticky with sweat. Piling it on top of her head for a moment’s relief, she wished she brought along a hair tie.

“I’m going to do a perimeter check,” Bucky whispered over her shoulder. Darcy shot him a confused glance and he shrugged. “Just call it a hunch.”

She nodded and turned her attention back to Jane and the phone.

“Where’s Erik?”

“Here,” he called, switching places with Bucky so he could see over Darcy’s shoulder. “I have the sensors setup.”

Erik had her and Bucky set up three landmine looking instruments underneath where he claimed the portal would appear.

“Jarvis is locking onto the signal,” Jane informed. “He should be transmitting readings back to me in real time.” Her focus changed to her laptop and Darcy heard a voice in the background. “Rogers is here by the way.”

The statement came out as an annoyed grumble. Steve Rogers’s head popped into view and he gave a little half salute.

“Where’s Bucky?”

“He’s doing a perimeter check,” Darcy replied. “He said he had a hunch.”

Steve frowned. “Is everything--”

“Doctor Foster, I have the transmission signal from the genesis modules.” Jarvis’s voice echoed through the speaker.

Jane waved Steve away from the screen. “He’s fine, everyone is fine. Erik, how much time do we have?”

“We should see the portal in, oh,” Erik shifted his arm up to check his watch. “One minute, seventeen seconds.”

“Darcy don’t forget to turn on the camera this time,” Jane instructed.

“That was  _ one _ time. A  _ really _ long time ago.” Darcy moved to the tripod and flipped on the switch to the ancient camcorder that belonged to Erik. He’d set everything up just so, knowing the exact position to capture the portal and take proper readings.

Bucky returned to her side. There was a tightness around his mouth that worried her. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah just…a weird feeling.”

“Maybe it’s just the portal energy giving you the creeps.” She reached down and gave his metal hand a squeeze. 

“Maybe,” he replied, sounding unconvinced, but squeezing her hand back all the same. 

“Get ready,” Erik warned, motioning for them to stand back.

Darcy flipped the camera on her phone so Jane could see the event.

Light burst and the atmosphere ripped in half, a jagged seam of blue pulling apart space in a terrifying and awesome way. The water in the dark pool behind them began to bubble, steam rising up into the air. A cracking sound that rivaled the thunder outside made Darcy flinch and cover her ears. Bucky moved a protective arm over her, watching the eerie transformation of the air before them.

“Oh my god.” 

Jane, who had seen and done a hundred amazing things in her lifetime, could still be surprised at anything. The portal was nothing short of amazing. Pulsing and alive and a harsh reminder that there was so little they understood about their universe.

“Shit.” Bucky breathed next to her.

“Bet you never saw something like this at a Stark Expo,” Darcy grinned, loving the way Bucky stared with equal parts fear and curiosity. According to Jane, that’s what made a good scientist.

“These readings are off the charts,” Jane said, quickly switching from star-struck physics fangirl to serious scienctist. “Darcy, we’re going to have so much to quantify when you get back. Why didn’t we think of this auto transmission sooner…”

“Can’t wait,” Darcy grumbled, not loving the data monkey part of her job.

“Darce, can you get closer with the phone? What is the coloring around the edges?” Jane referred to the angry red highlight the edge of the blue portal.

“Careful Darcy,” Erik warned. “Don’t get too close, I’m not sure of the pull, but the heat reading have been well over what any human could survive.”

He didn’t need to tell her twice. The temperature reading in the cave had increased by ten degrees with the appearance of the portal. Darcy inched forward with her iPhone. “Jane, I’m not melting in the weird space hole the name of science.”

“Doctor Foster, entropy levels are dropping,” announced Jarvis.

“That’s impossible,” she countered. “Unless--” Jane gasped. “We’re dealing with a white hole.”

“What’s a white hole?” Darcy asked, wiping sweat from her brow.

Erik as usual, answered. “In a sense, it’s the reverse of a black hole. Similar in that light and matter can’t escape it, nothing can enter it, nothing can reach its event horizon. Theoretically, it’s an area of space time that doesn’t exist.” 

“How does something that I can see not exist?”

“That is the question,” Erik replied, excited twinkle in his eye.

“I would need to know the mass, charge, angular momentum,” Jane continued, rattling off a list of needed measurements. “Jarvis, can we get any of this information without having to go through the portal?”

“I’ll see what I can do with the readings we have Doctor Foster.”

Jarvis’s last words broke up as the video feed of Jane flickered on Darcy’s phone.

“Yo, Jane, you there?” Darcy moved away from the portal, lifting her phone into the air. “Jane?”

“Darc--”

Jane’s image made a few static flashes before cutting out, the call dropped.

“I think the portal is messing with the signal,” Darcy said attempting a redial and noticing the lack of bars at the top of her phone’s screen. She looked up at Bucky. “Maybe try again in a few minutes?” Bucky shrugged. “Can you check the camcorder for me?”

Erik was checking the other equipment, noting down readings into his Moleskin notebook, murmuring to himself. Darcy paused beside him, looking up at the portal in wonder. She couldn’t believe she was involved in the discovery of some new feat of physics.

“This is pretty freaking cool.”

“Yes, it is,” Erik agreed. “I’m very glad you both are here to share it with me.” Darcy smiled at Erik, giving him a friendly pat on the back. She could see loneliness in the corners of his eyes.

“Well maybe next time just tell us you want us to visit instead of leaving Jane a mysterious reverse psychology voicemail telling her  _ not _ to visit.”

Erik chuckled at her statement, but the warm smile dropped as her words registered. “What? What message?” 

“The one you left on her voicemail, kind of sounding like the crazy, no-pants version of you, where you told us not to come out and visit you,” Darcy explained gently, “We all thought it was some warning that you were in danger. Kinda freaked us all out.”

“Darcy, I didn’t leave any message with Jane about not visiting.”

Darcy could see it in his eyes, he truly had no idea what she was talking about.

“Give me your phone,” Darcy instructed. Erik fished it out of his coat pocket and passed it to her. She recalled the approximate date of Erik’s message, scrolling to his recent calls list and finding the date and time of when he would have left the message magically empty. Erik had only made one call since he’d left London and that was to a Norway number. 

Darcy looked up at Erik, a cold theory forming in her brain. 

“Turn around,” Darcy instructed, trying to keep the anxiety from filling her voice.

“Turn--”

He was too slow for Darcy’s racing thoughts. She spun him around, while he sputtered in confusion, and yanked down the collar of his coat and shirt. There, on the back of his neck, was a circle of red dots. Just like the scars Ian bore from Hydra’s mind control injections.

“Bucky?”

They needed to get out of there, right now. They all needed to get to the jet and get back to New York and the tower and safety as soon as possible. They’d been stupid. It had been a trap all along. As usual, Hydra had played the long game, manipulating them into a maze with the push pull of safety and danger that they didn’t recognize the real danger until it was too late.

Now they were too late. 

Footsteps and the sound of guns being cocked made them all turn as four black shapes slunk through the mouth of the cave ready to take them, dead or alive.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Fear sliced through him at the sound of panic in Darcy’s voice when she called his name. But the fear Bucky felt in that moment paled in comparison to the next, at the sight of four agents filing into the cave, guns drawn and trained on each of them.

Darcy and Erik’s hands shot up in surrender, as his own went to his side arm.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” one of the agents warned him, in a voice that sounded suspiciously American. Unlike the other agents, whose faces were covered by black goggles and masks, his mouth remained uncovered. The obvious leader of the group. The others spread out to cover their backs and prevent escape. The leader remained central, the black goggles covering his eyes made it difficult to tell where his attention was focused.

Darcy was six meters from him, Erik another couple of feet. Too damn far.

One of the men stayed trained on Bucky, his weapon aimed at his chest. Bucky knew he’d be able to fake and dodge any shot from this single agent. He’d be on him--neck broken and shaking hands with his maker--before the gunman could even get off a second round. There was the problem of the other two. Bucky didn’t know their intentions with Darcy or Erik and wasn’t willing to risk either of them getting shot.

The leader stepped toward the portal, examining it, his head moving up and down across the pulsing light. Then he turned to Darcy and did the same. The itch in Bucky’s hand to grab his gun multiplied as he reconsidered how fast he could take them all out against the possibility of her getting caught in crossfire. Still too slim. 

“You are not Jane Foster.” Bucky couldn’t see his face, but he heard the disappointed curl in his statement.

“Astute observation, asshat.”

Leave it to Darcy to antagonize an enemy. The leader seemed unaffected by her insult, lifting a hand to his ear and giving his attention over to an unseen comlink in his helmet. He nodded.

“Yes sir.” He nodded to the others. “Take these two. Kill the other.”

The other agents lowered their guns, moving toward Erik and Darcy. Bucky held himself still, the agent on him moving closer, and then made his move.

His hand shot out as the gun cracked off a shot, bullet ricocheting off the cave wall, rock and dust crumbling down. In less than a second he broke the wrist of the agent and had him out on the ground.

“Kill him!” The leader shouted to the others. One broke away, the other stayed on Darcy and Erik. His mistake. Staying near Darcy made him safe. 

Bucky approached him as the gun went off, lifting his hand to block the shot, sparks flying from his metal palm. He could only guess at the surprise behind the other agent’s mask as he reach for him and engaged.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Darcy duck and cover, Erik dodging the battle, and the leader stepping forward. But most of his focus was on the agent in front of him, throwing and dodging punches, backing him toward the portal.

A kick to the chest sent the agent flying toward the portal, a vicious screaming ripping from the man as they all stilled and watched his body burn and rip apart. The ebbing light flickered and seemed to grower weaker.

The third agent moved to take his teammate’s place in the combat. Bucky dodged another shot, his fist swinging out and and knocking the agent against the cave wall. It was clear the agent was giving the portal a wide berth, not wanting to suffer the same fate as his comrade. Bucky saw the opening at his ribs and hit him with his cybernetic fist, knowing the force would crack a few ribs, and put him down for the count.

“Stop!”

He heard a shout behind him and turned. The leader had Darcy in front of him, using her a human shield, next to the portal. Bucky turned to stone, not risking a single muscle twitch.

“Desist,” the leader commanded him. “Or she dies.”

.

.

.

.

.

Darcy was pretty sure the “or she dies” part was a total crock. She hated the look of anger and fear on Bucky’s face, wishing she could do more than simply struggle in the enemy’s grasp. Her nails clawed at the arm around her chest, but it was no use. The heat from portal pushed at her cheek, sweat sliding down her temples.

“Yes sir,” she heard the agent reply to some voice in his head. “We are going to perform an experiment. You three are scientists, you’ll enjoy this.” The agent jerked her body and pulled a gun, pressing it to her head. Bucky flinched, but stopped himself from moving.

Darcy realized the gun was a warning for her to stay put, while the agent let her go, using his other hand to fish something from his utility pocket. He slapped something onto her chest, little claws reaching out to clamp onto the material of her shirt.

“We’ll see if Doctor Selvig was correct in his theories or not.”

Darcy had only a moment to question the statement before the agent was shoving her into the portal. 

A moment to stumble over a rock as she fell into the hot, bright light.

A moment to hear Bucky shout.

A moment to realize her impending death.

Before the white light obscured her vision.

Before fire ripped at her skin.

Before she fell into nothingness.

And everything dropped away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't kill me!
> 
> Because of the cliffy, I will try my very damndest to update within a week or two! 
> 
> I read a headcanon on tumblr a while back about Bucky being a science nerd because he took Steve and their dates to the Stark expo in TFA. I liked it so I expanded on it a bit.
> 
> Also, personal head canon: the cave they are in is the same cave from Age of Ultron. Which may give you some clues as to what might happen...I'm not sure if they specified a location for that cave in AoU but obviously for my purposes it will be in Reine.
> 
> Love you all and hope you are having wonderful summers! (or winters...I think for Australian folk? Maybe?)
> 
> follow me on tumblr at marvelouskatie


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I'm like ONE DAY past the two week promise...but hey it's not a month!!! This chapter is a little wibbly. It may be confusing. It may not be anything you were expecting. It may give you a few theories about some stuff to come...
> 
> Thank you to theskiddlyboop for beating and helping me sort some things out!
> 
> Enjoy!

It was dark.

And then it was day.

Morning light shifting through their curtains. Their mattresses still stacked on the floor, even after two months. Her mother had been bugging them to go buy a proper bed, but they liked their comfy spot on the floor. It was theirs.

Ugh, her head hurt. Too much champagne last night. They come home and made love, giggling and silly from a night of celebration.

Darcy moaned, not wanting to open her eyes. Warm whispers invaded her ear, the voice deep, familiar. Calling her doll. Her husband woke her up like this every day.

She twisted in the sheets to roll into his warmth, but fell instead. She never met the floor, she just kept falling and falling. She must have been dreaming, but it had felt so real, there with her husband. Or not her husband.  

She opened her dream eyes, blinded by green swirling light, her body weightless and space rushing past her. The image of a cave flashed before her vision, a voice crying out her name, and then it was gone. When she hit the ground again she was somewhere else.

Thunder crashed and it was dark, the sky turning charcoal. Hadn’t it been blue skies a moment before? Or was that a dream amidst the agony of reality? It was storming. Rain blurring her vision, enemies surrounding them. They weren’t going to make it this time. Cold, metal fingers gripped her hand. She looked over at him, not seeing his face. It was all blurry for some reason, but she knew she was looking straight into his eyes. If this was really it this time, at least they were together.

Damn freaking robot, singing creepy songs. Tony was so stupid, Bruce was right to yell. The enemy they created could finally tear the world apart. She missed Jarvis.

She snapped back again, stumbling into a rock, thrown across the cool, verdant nothingness. Noises that didn’t make sense. Voices she knew...Jane, Thor, Bucky, Ian...something exploded to her right and she jumped away from the bright flash, feeling the unseen force controlling her toss her in another direction.

A moment before she was standing in the rain and now was in a building, rough hands, masked men grabbing at her. _ It’s a trap! _ She clawed at the wall. She had to warn him, even if he hated her, even if they shot her for it. _ It’s a trap! _ They were Hydra all along. How did no one see? How did they miss this?

Her body was heavy, life spilling from her stomach, but she crawled forward.

_ Darcy _ .

It wasn’t the voice she wanted to hear. She curled away, green and cold all around. She reached for another dream and it flashed before her vision.

Sunlight in her eyes. Morning in bed with her husband.

_ Darcy _ . Red silk brushed against her arm.

Lightning struck, rain pelted against her skin. He held her tight, as the sea swallowed them. Nothing else they could do.

_ Stay with me.  _  Arms lifting her up.

The whole damn city, rising into the sky, right there on TV with everyone she loved at the center.

_ Open the bridge!  _ Hold on! Hold on! 

Arms pulled her down the hall, wanting to keep the secret, just a little longer. But she had to warn him. Her nails digging in. Her brain telling her to remember. If nothing else, remember this. Warning! Trap!

_ Remember _ ! Trap!  _ Remember _ !

Rainbow flooded in around her, it was all she could see. But her eyes were closed. How did she see it?

There was something she was supposed to  _ remember _ .

But she fell asleep and forgot.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Something was sitting on her chest. A woman, she thought. Maybe. Long hair cover her face and shoulders, ghost like and ethereal. Darcy tried to move, to push her off, she was crushing her lungs. Neither her legs nor arms seemed to cooperate. Panic seized her, the weight of the woman making it hard to breathe. Darcy tried to scream, but she wasn't sure her mouth was working. 

Other faces moved in front of her vision, but each time she attempted to hold onto one to identify it, it faded away. Her limbs refused to move, no matter how hard she tried. Maybe if she closed her eyes again, pretended to be asleep, the woman would leave her alone and she would be able to move again. 

.

.

.

.

.

Darcy blinked. Her mouth tasted weird. Not unpleasant, sort of fruity. But she was thirsty. And her head ached. Too much alcohol for her. No more nights of trying to match Tony drink for drink. It must have been pina coladas this time. She could taste a hint of coconut when she licked her lips.

"Mmph," she moaned stretching her limbs. The muscles in her legs protested, cramping up. They did not want to be moved.

"Darcy." A male voice called her attention, a gentle palm moving across her forehead.

"Mmm...Bucky?" she answered on a yawn. She’d been having a dream about him. She thought. It was hard to remember, the vision behind her eyelids fading into nothing.

"No,it is I," the voice replied. "Thor."

Darcy blinked open her eyes. "Thor?" 

Above her was her thunder god friend. She hadn't seen him in weeks, maybe months. It was nice to see him. His hair was longer than last time, and shinier. Come to think, everything looked shinier. The sunlight was weird. And Thor was wearing Asgardian clothes, robes colored deep crimson, and not the usual v-neck t-shirts and jeans he favored whenever he was playing regular Earth guy.

Darcy frowned, she liked the way he looked in those t-shirts. Dude was cut.

"Darcy," Thor cupped her cheek again to tilt her face up. She'd closed her eyes again.

"Ugh," she groaned, rubbing her forehead. "I need an egg sandwich, Advil, and water. ASAP."

The prince of Asgard chuckled, mirth crinkling his eyes, and pushing away the worry that had clouded them before. Darcy let her eyes fall shut again as he moved away, shifting her head back to the pillow.

"There is the vivacious spark of my most favorite lightening sister," she could hear the grin in his words, as well as the sound of water pouring into a cup. "Water I can provide, as for the rest...we shall have to wait until we return."

"Return where?" she snuggled into her pillow. Maybe it was a little out of place letting a royal god tend to her while hung over. Why was Thor the one taking care of her in the first place? Where was Jane?

"Return to Earth."

The words sunk in and she shot up, eyes wide open and in awe of her surroundings. She wasn't in her apartment or cozily sleeping off her drunkenness in Jane's California king at the Tower. Instead she was surrounded by high ceilings and golden walls, glittering sunlight spilling through tall balcony windows through billowing, gauzy curtains.

"Thor, am I in your bedroom?"

"Aye.” He handed her the goblet of water.

"Am I in your bedroom," she gulped, "on Asgard?" 

"Aye," he repeated, a lot more carefully, sensing her panic.

Everything came back to her. The cave, the agents, Bucky fighting, the gun pressed to her head, being thrown into the portal and a her brief moment of  _ so long cruel world _ before getting sucked into the white hole. The last thing she remembered hearing was Bucky screaming her name.

Oh god, Bucky. He thought she was dead.

"Well, this isn’t good," she said, falling back against the bed, Thor’s reflexes the only thing that kept water from spilling everywhere. 

 

It was the understatement of the century. She spared just a moment to celebrate the fact she wasn’t dead, curling her toes and lifting a hand to her heart. It was beating a little quickly from shock, but beating all the same. She took a deep breath before lifting onto her elbows to face reality and figured out what happened while she was passed out and also maybe in another realm. 

 

"Okay,” she said to Thor, who was waiting patiently while she had a small freak out. “Let's start with how the hell I survived and go from there." 

.

.

.

.

.

.

Considering that good ol' papa Odin wasn't too pleased with the last Earthling that had visited Asgard, Thor had snuck Darcy onto their realm, with the assistance of Heimdall. The golden sentry had been the one to see Darcy disappear into the portal and alerted Thor so that he could intervene.

Once she’d been fed and watered, Thor wasted no time in wrapping Darcy in her own cloak, and sneaking her out of the palace. Now they were back with the omniscient guardian, ready to take the Rainbow Bridge back to Earth.

“Lady Darcy,” Heimdal greeted. “Happy to see you well.”

The god was familiar with her in a way that was a bit confusing, considering that she was probably passed out upon their first meeting. But she rolled with it.

“I hear that I have you to thank for that,” she replied, staring up at him. He was very, very tall.

His swirling golden-fire eyes were mesmerizing.

 

“Perhaps it would be best to keep away from mysterious portals in the future.”

“I’ll do my best, but I can’t really make any promises, with Jane for a best friend.” Darcy looked up at Thor, not expecting to see his mouth pressed into a thin, tight line.

“We should go,” Thor said. “You have been away for two Earth days. We should not linger any longer. There are those that wish to see you well and alive for themselves.”

Darcy agreed. She looked to Heimdall once more, and he inclined his head toward her in farewell.

“Our paths may yet cross again, Lady Darcy,” the sentry told her. “It is uncertain. There are many roads that can be travelled as you now know.”

“Heimdall.” Darcy caught the warning in Thor’s tone. Heimdall deferred to his prince and stood back as Thor wrapped an arm around her. “Hold onto me tightly.”

 

Darcy didn’t need to be told twice. She locked her fists into Thor’s crimson cloak and held on for dear life as the Rainbow Bridge opened and transported them back to Earth.

She barely had time to freak out as myriad colors flashed before her eyes and the sound of thunder followed them through. Her stomach flipped up into her throat and her head felt light, then her feet were on solid ground, the expanse of the New York skyline greeting them from the helipad on the tower.

The little yellow chair, the one she always sat in when she had roof beers with Tony, was tucked into its usual spot. Jane was seated there, wrapped in a blanket.

“Jane!” She stumbled, still dizzy and not quite in control of her footing yet, as she rushed toward her friend.

“Darcy!”

The two women crashed into a fierce hug, Jane’s thin frame holding her tighter than Thor had during their trip over the bridge. The older woman pulled back, staring at her face with equal parts relief and happiness. “I’m so glad you’re okay. What happened?”

Before she could answer, Tony was coming through the roof door, Steve Rogers on his heels. Darcy held her breath, disappointed to not see another face behind them.

“Where—“

“They’re fine. They’re here. We’ll talk about it later.” Jane seemed to be warning her to keep her mouth shut. Darcy worried, but she would have to wait.

“Good to have you home, kid,” Tony said clapping her on the back. She knew it was Tony speak for he’d been worried as shit but was too scared to actually show any vulnerability about it. He looked around at the others. “Time for a family meeting?”

.

.

.

.

.

The family meeting consisted of Darcy, Jane, Thor, Rogers, Tony, and Maria Hill. Apparently it was an official meeting, Agent Hill in her black S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform.

The way they were sat, with Darcy and Jane at one end of a conference table, and the others across from them, made her feel like she was in trouble. She couldn’t imagine why she would be in trouble, considering it wasn’t her fault she fell into a weird space portal. Darcy shifted under their scrutiny, uncomfortable in spite of the soft fabric of her borrowed Asgardian robe.

Hill took charge of the debrief. “What happened?”

Darcy opened her mouth to answer, but it was Thor who spoke. “Darcy was pulled into the realm of the Norn, at the roots of Yggdrasil, where the threads of the universe are tied.  Usual mortals should not be able to survive the transport through the portal to the Norn realm, however because she was involved with the convergence, it seems she has been gifted with a special admittance to realms of the fates that exist between our worlds.” The way Thor said “gifted” made it sound exactly the opposite, more like a curse. But it explained why she’d survived.

“So that’s why that Hydra asshole burned to a crisp when he fell in,” Darcy muttered to Jane’s shoulder.

“Wait, what did you say?” Steve Rogers’s sat up in his seat, his full attention on her making her a little nervous. Before that moment, he’d been rather passive about the whole meeting, glaring into space as if something else was on his mind that took precedence over whatever had happened with Darcy.

“Um, one of the Hydra agents that attacked us, right before I was shoved into the portal,” Darcy explained. “He fell in and went down in flames.”

Steve opened his mouth but Hill interrupted. “Miss Lewis, what do you mean Hydra agents attacked you?”

All eyes were on her now. Even Jane was looking at her intent and confused. “Didn’t Bucky or Erik tell you? I thought you said they were back?”

Judging by Jane’s look, this was exactly what she’d wanted to avoid on the roof. “They are but—“

“Miss Lewis, why don’t you give us your version of events that happened in Norway.”

If she didn’t already feel like she was in trouble, Darcy certainly did at that moment. Maria Hill, hair pulled back tight, in full S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform, was giving her a “guilty until proven innocent” sort of look.

Darcy started to recount the story, but thought better of it and decided to take a different approach. “Honestly, my brain is a little fuzzy from all the other world shenanigans. I don’t remember—“

“Our healers did their best to repair her damaged mind,” Thor provided. Darcy was grateful he pulled some of the focus and facilitated the subject change. “There are many things she beared witness to while with the Norns. Not all of it is pleasant.”

“I want to hear more about that,” Tony interjected. “What’s these Norns? What did Darcy see?”

 

Tony was bouncing with curiosity. Steve looked annoyed that he didn’t have a chance to follow whatever line of questioning he’d been aiming toward.

“We in Asgard consult the wisdom of the Norn for guidance from time to time,” Thor explained. “They are the keepers of fate and destiny. They can see the thread of life in every living being and the paths each of us take. I believe those on Midgard have referred to it as string theory. The Norn can be of great assistance, if one knows how to control them and interpret their visions and prophecies, but they also can be great deceivers. As with many immortals, they are prone to boredom and fond of meddling in the delicate lives of mortals.” Thor turned serious. “It is for the best that Darcy is unable to recall any of the things she witnessed while within their realm.”

Thor looked down at her with sad eyes. Darcy recalled his concern that she was not like herself when she first woke up and the warnings against Heimdall’s words that they may meet again before she left. There was something he wasn’t saying and she was doing her best to read between the lines and looks he kept shooting her.

“Well, that’s good enough for me,” Tony said, clapping his hands together. “The kid seems alright. Maybe we can get one of Cho’s docs to give her a look if she’s feeling a little loopy?”

 

“No, no,” Darcy said quickly. “I’m good. I feel great. I promise!” Darcy didn’t want to see any doctors or have any more serious conversations. She wanted to get Jane alone so she could figure out what the hell people weren’t saying. And then she wanted to find Bucky.

Maria Hill looked unsatisfied. “We’ll finish this when Miss Lewis is feeling better.” 

 

Tony ushered both Hill and Steve out of the room, giving Darcy a wink over his shoulder, leaving her and Jane and Thor alone.

 

“Where’s Erik? Is he…?”

“Erik’s okay,” Jane answered, then shook her head. “Actually, he’s not doing great. After the mind control thing…again. He’s here though. He’s dealing.”

Darcy hated it. She hated that Erik had once again been the toy from some villain to use and play with. “And Bucky?”

“I haven’t seen him since they flew back,” Jane told her. “He’s been under lock and key. Darcy, what happened in Norway?”

“Erik took us to see the portal. These four Hydra agents showed up and tried to kill Bucky and kidnap me and Erik. They used mind control on Erik the same way they did on Ian. It was a trap!” Something tapped at her mind.  _ Trap! _ She shook her head and continued. “They were disappointed because I wasn’t you.” Darcy explained the short fight to Jane, culminating with her being shoved into the portal.

“Darcy, this is very important. Did you actually hear any of them say they were with Hydra?”

“No,” she answered. “But obviously they were. We figured out the mind control thing right before they popped up.”

“According to Hill, they were S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, sent by Pierce. They were tired of being in the dark about whatever we were doing and decided to intervene. They tracked you. According to the agent that was brought in, Barnes went berserk and started attacking them. He’s facing some serious repercussions for killing federal agents.”

Darcy shot up out of her seat. “That’s not what happened!” she shouted. “There was video, you can see they tried to kill us! They tried to kill Bucky! I was thrown into that stupid portal because they wanted to kill me!”

“The camera and video were destroyed,” Jane explained. “There’s nothing but your word against theirs. Given Barnes’s history and Erik’s mental state, they are taking the agent’s side of the story.”

No wonder Rogers had looked so preoccupied during their meeting. He’d been worried about his friend. If Bucky was being accused of murdering agents, then Rogers would be after any possible defense against him being crazy.

“This is bullshit,” Darcy snapped. A splitting sort of pain flashed through her head and Darcy collapsed back into her chair, moaning against the burn behind her eyes.

_ Remember! _

“Remember WHAT?” she cried aloud, doubling over in her chair. She swore she felt something hiss in her ear.

 

“Darcy,” Jane’s hand rubbed across her back. “Are you okay?”

“This is what happens when you meddle with forces beyond your understanding.” Thor was on his knees at Darcy’s chair, concerned for her, but his words were for Jane. “Darcy may never be free of the Norn. They will use her as eyes and ears in this world, communicating through her whenever they please.”

“You don’t think I feel guilty?” Jane asked, cheeks burning.

“Not guilty enough,” Thor answered, looking into Darcy’s eyes for something. “I warned you.”

Jane let out an exasperated sound, leaving her chair, gaining some distance from Thor. “Maybe you should stop leaving me in the dark about all these things I don’t understand. Did it ever occur to you that maybe this is your fault as much as it is mine? Maybe if you’d let me in on some of these secrets, I wouldn’t have to go looking for answers myself.”

It sounded like an argument they’d had a hundred times before. A little bit like mom and dad fighting over their child. Darcy didn’t really want to stick around to listen to them fight. When their attention was turned, the yelling match in full force, Darcy slipped out of her chair and out of the room.

Darcy had just made it a safe distance down the hall when she was yanked by the arm into a dark, unused office. There was no need to scream or be frightened. Before she even saw him, she knew it was Bucky.

His hands cupped her face and his eyes searched hers. She watched him take her in, not believing she was there, trying to reassure himself that she was okay. Darcy wondered how long he’d thought her dead and a wash of guilt overtook her. Rationally, she knew none of it was her fault, but until that moment she hadn’t really understood how much her supposed death would affect him.

Darcy wrapped her arms around him and held him close, letting him press his nose into her hair, feel her heartbeat, know that she was real and whole and not going anywhere anytime soon.

“Dammit, Darce,” he whispered into her hair. His voice sounded thick from disuse, the Brooklyn accent slipping through with affection that made her smile.

Darcy squeezed him tighter, relieved and happy in spite of everything, to finally be home.

.

.

.

.

Steve was annoyed with Tony, but that wasn’t new. He wanted to talk to Lewis. He wanted to know exactly what had happened in Norway. Maybe they could finally shed some light on the situation. He knew Bucky wouldn’t have killed S.H.I.E.L.D. agents for no reason. It had been months since he’d had an outburst.

“Give her a break,” Tony urged him following him back down the hall to the conference room where they’d left Jane, Thor, and Darcy. “Let her catch up and breathe for a minute and then you can go all Perry Mason on her. Barnes isn’t going anywhere and Hill isn’t going to arrest--”

“I don’t have time to wait,” Steve snapped. “Pierce said—“

“I know what Pierce said, but no one is going anywhere,” Tony smirked. “Pepper’s birthday is tomorrow. 

Steve rolled his eyes. “You think the world revolves around you and your party planning?”

“I’m sorry, we haven’t seem to have met. I’m Tony Stark.” Tony stuck out a sarcastic hand, which Steve waved off and rounded the corner to the conference room as Tony rambled about precious political standing between the American government and Stark Industries and how it wouldn’t be prudent for Alexander Pierce to upset the tentative trust between the two. 

The sound of raised voices made them pause—Thor and Jane having a rather heated discussion. “Hmmm,” Tony considered. “Sounds like a domestic. We might not want to go in there.”

Steve agreed, moving down the hall, to wait and watch for Darcy Lewis to head out. Tony stood with him. He wondered how long it would take for Tony to get bored and leave. Tony would want to pal around with the girl, go easy on her, but Steve needed to get to the bottom of the situation. Bucky’s freedom and future was at stake.

“Well, well, look at what we have here,” Tony whispered, pulling Steve’s shirt and calling his attention to a darkened room down the hall. The door to an unclaimed office was cracked open and inside Steve saw Bucky and Darcy, the two of them holding on to each other. “How long has that been happening?”

Steve blinked, uncomfortable at the intimacy of the two of them, confused, too. Even though Darcy was completely wrapped up by Bucky--the shorter girl enveloped by the size of his friend--it looked much more like she was the one supporting and comforting him rather than the other way around. 

Catching Bucky with a girl wasn’t a new experience. It had happened a time or two when they’d been living together in Brooklyn. But this...seeing him with Darcy Lewis, holding onto the girl like she was life itself, was something different. Something about it turned his stomach.

He swallowed down his discomfort and looked away, deciding to leave his questions for another time after all.

.

.

.

.

.

Alexander Pierce had worked hard to become the man he’d become. He thought about the choices he’d made, standing in the study of his multi-million dollar home, in the middle of the capital of the world’s most powerful country. He thought about these choices as he swirled his single grain whiskey inside of his crystal tumbler, the brown liquid cut with water, the way he preferred his whiskey, just as his father had before him.

He was a patient man, who believed good things came to those who possessed patience, and who also believed in letting other men get their hands dirty, preferring to keep his clean.

It was why he’d acquired The Winter Soldier in the first place. The best killer in history, the most ruthless, and one of Hydra’s most valuable weapons.  The asset had been lost, but like any self made man, Pierce would turn failure into opportunity.

“Sir.” The agent at the doorway called his attention, dressed in black, keeping to the darkness. “The files.”

The man produced a manila envelope. Pierce’s trump card. Losing the Soldier had been a missed opportunity. He would get him back and he would tear the Avengers apart while doing it. Two birds--one made of stars and stripes, the other of iron--crushed by a single, swift stone.

“Thank you,” Pierce said, accepting the envelope.

The agent nodded and saluted. “Hail Hydra.”

“Hail Hydra,” Pierce returned, slipping a pistol from his desk drawer and shooting the agent in the chest.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may or may not get shit for Steve's reaction to Bucky and Darcy. I thought about writing a huge explanation of this characterization decision on here, but it got kinda long, so if you're curious or bothered by it, feel free to come chat to me on Tumblr. I've thought long and hard about this path and we will eventually have some great Steve stuff, but I know some people think of him as a 100% saint in all things and frankly, I think he could be a little petty over something like this.
> 
> We'll find out more about Darcy's "visions", the Norn, and some more Bucky/Darcy reunion goodness soon. Plus, there's a fancy party coming up.... :)
> 
> follow me on tumblr at Marvelouskatie
> 
> See you guys soon!


	21. Hiatus Notice

Hey guys! Please don't murder me, I know how irritating it can be getting notices for chapters that are not actual chapters. I probably should have given this notice a few months ago.

I wanted to take a moment to say thank you to everyone who has commented and followed this fic. You guys are awesome and I've loved getting to know some of you!

I have to unfortunately admit that Learning to Breathe is going on an indefinite hiatus.

Fic is a hobby of mine and I started writing this one while waiting for a manuscript I'd written to be edited. I didn't realize this was going to grow into a monster of a fic in my head when I started writing it. I probably shouldn't have started a long fic, because unfortunately I didn't get a chance to finish it before I got my manuscript back and went hardcore into revisions. 

I'm very sorry that I don't foresee having time in the near future to continue with this. I'm sure I'll still be writing fic--because I still get OTP feels and sometimes it's nice to write something low key to let off steam. But for now, most of my time and effort is focused on my first novel that will be out sometime this year.

I appreciate everyone's support and understanding. I apologize to those of you I've disappointed. If anyone wants to keep up with me and my continuing professional writing adventures, feel free to check out my tumblr for updates. MarvelousKatie is my username there.

Love you guys bunches! Hope I see you all again soon :)


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had some extra free time recently so I decided to write another chapter! There's some quality Thor/Darcy time which I really enjoyed writing. 
> 
> Apologies for any continuity issues or confusion. This is unbetaed so please also forgive any egregious errors in spelling and grammar.

Darcy had a plan. She and Bucky had lingered in the empty room, holding one another, until long after she heard Jane slam a door down the hallway. Thor eventually left too, and sometime later the motion sensitive lights in the hallway shut off. Hand in hand, they made their way down the vacant hallway, past empty conference rooms and offices, and to the elevator to head to Darcy's apartment. It was clear that Bucky had no intention of letting her out of his sight for the time being and Darcy had no intention of spending the night alone. 

There were too many dark shadows poking at her brain. Inky visions she couldn't quite get a visual on that made her feel cold and hollow. 

Her plan was simple: getting Bucky upstairs for a little TLC for both of them. He looked like he could use some sleep, if the deep, purple circles under his eyes were anything to judge by. They'd jump into some cozy pajamas, pull up the covers, and snuggle until they both fell asleep safe and sound with one another. 

That was the plan anyway. Totally innocent. However, Bucky’s nearness in the elevator, his fingers brushing down her arms, his breath in her hair as he hovered just behind her stirred a whole new desire inside of her. 

As soon as the door to apartment clicked shut behind them, Darcy lost her cool. She pounced, planting her lips on his. The kiss was rough and desperate, her teeth clashing against his. Without missing a beat his arms wrapped around her, catching her and holding her up off the ground. Bucky's stubble scraped her cheeks and she moved back and forth, trying to get the best angle, trying to find the position that gave her the best access to his mouth.

She'd heard related stories of near death experiences often lighting up the loins of a person. Nothing could make someone feel more alive than some post-action sex and whoa boy, Bucky hands were setting her on fire. He gripped her hard, pressing them together, not concerned about how rough he might be handling her. It made her love him all the more as her fingers scrambled for the zip of his hoodie and yanked it down, wanting to get to some skin as quick as she possibly could.

“Wait a second,” Bucky mumbled, in spite of the fact that their mouths were all but smashed together. “Darce, hold on.” He was pushing at her shoulders and she was whining like a five year old who’s mother had taken away her lollipop.

“What’s the matter?” She asked, breathless.

Bucky blew out a breath. “We can’t do this,” he replied, sounding like he was still trying to convince himself of what he was saying. “I know what this is.”

“What is this?”

Bucky was still holding her shoulders, still holding her away and preventing her from diving back in for another taste of his lips. “It’s adrenaline,” he explained, “it’s shock. It’s you almost dying and me watching and both of us needing to feel…life.”

Darcy reached up as much as she could with the way he was holding her back, only able to grasp his forearms. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Look, trust me doll, I want this,” Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, “you don’t know how bad. And the old Bucky would have definitely said to hell with it and took advantage of everything you’re offering.” He paused and looked her in the eye, his gaze filled with heat, but overpowered by something softer, more thoughtful. One of his hands, the cybernetic hand, released her and came up to brush the tousled hair away from her face. “You’re special and I want this to be special…at least the first time.”

Darcy could feel her heart bursting out of her chest over the realization that the world’s most deadly assassin wanted to romance her before they did the deed. “Oh my god,” she whined, dropping her chin to her chest. “You’re _so_ 1940s.”

Bucky chuckled and placed a kiss over her hair.

“That’s what you get when you fall for a guy who’s almost a hundred,” he teased. Darcy laughed, turn her face up to his again, drinking in the sight of the amused crinkles around his eyes. “I’m so glad you’re safe,” he whispered, turning solemn. “ _Fuck_.”

“I know,” she replied, just as serious. “Something tells me that we’ll probably have other opportunities in the future for thank-god-we’re-alive sex.” She let out a half-hearted laugh.

“Don’t joke about that,” he warned, expression grim.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, looking down at his shoulder. Her fingers toyed with the zip of his hoodie. “It’s kind of what I do. I make jokes about inappropriate stuff.”

Bucky crooked a knuckle under her chin and tilted her face back up to his. “You sure you’re alright?”

Darcy wasn’t sure, but she wanted to ignore it, so she nodded. “What about you? What’s going to happen with you?” She wasn’t forgetting that Bucky was in hot water for killing the supposed S.H.I.E.L.D. agents.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, running a thumb across her cheekbone. “I’ve done a lot of not good stuff, doll, and so far I’ve gotten lucky at not facing any consequences.”

Darcy wasn’t going along with that. “It’s not your fault Hydra is crazy and brainwashed you and forced you to do all that…not good stuff.”

“No, but I still did it,” he argued. Darcy sighed, she knew she wasn’t going to talk him out of the self-blame. Bucky gave her a wry smile. “My luck’s gonna run out sooner or later. I’m just gonna let myself enjoy the goodness while I have it.”

Darcy bit her lip and smiled, the look in his eyes telling her that by goodness he meant her. Her heart fluttered, even if she didn’t like the subtext that there was an unknown expiration date looming over them. Realistically, she knew the clock could run out at any moment, that was just the nature of their jobs and lives. But it wasn’t going to run out that night.

Letting all the concerns drop, Darcy let Bucky take her hand and lead her to bed, cuddling up into the safety of his arms and falling asleep. She decided to take his lead for the night and enjoy the goodness while they had it.

.

.

.

.

Bucky was awake the next morning at an ungodly hour before the sun came up. He shifted Darcy enough to wake her. She groaned and vaguely remembered him mentioning the word “running” before he dropped a kiss to her forehead and let her roll back over to snuggle into the warm space he’d left behind in her bed.

_Darcyyyyyyy_

“Mm’whaaat?” She complained to her pillow. Couldn’t she just have five more minutes?

_REMEMBER!_

Darcy sat up with a gasp, fully awake. She searched frantically around the room for the voice that just shouted at her, but no one was there. Falling back again she groaned, rubbing at her eyes.

Sun was bleeding through her curtains and she stared up at the ceiling as all of her current worries—Hydra assassins, Bucky, voices in her head—came back to her, each clawing for her attention. Knowing her brain wasn’t going to shut up enough to let her get anymore sleep she threw back her covers and swung her feet onto the floor.

After dressing and showering, she made her way to the common kitchen, because she was out of coffee at her own place and hopefully there may be a surprise tray of pastries waiting there as well.

“Good morning, Miss Lewis,” Jarvis greeted as she stepped into the kitchen.

“Morning Jarv!” She returned, noting with glee that there was an awesome display of Danishes and bagels waiting for her consumption on the marble counter.

“Mr. Stark has taken the liberty of providing morning libations for everyone in the Tower,” Jarvis informed her. “He has insisted that everyone be properly nourished for tonight’s festivities.”

Oh yeah. It was Pepper’s birthday party that night.

“Hey Jarvis,” Darcy said around a mouthful of cheese and cherry Danish, “any idea where Jane and Thor are?”

“Dr. Foster is currently in her lab and I believe the Son of Odin is currently in his own quarters,” he informed her.

Darcy took her cup of coffee to-go and grabbed a few extra pastries, then headed to the elevator to the level of the Tower where Thor resided.

She knocked on his door, waving the pastries in front of him when he answered the door and let her inside. He was out of his Asgardian garb and in his usual earthbound combo of maroon t-shirt and black denim. Being a sucker for sweets, Thor was very grateful for the breakfast food, and invited her to join him at his table. Thor was perhaps the only person she knew that actually sat down to breakfast at his dining table, even if it was only sugary breakfast treats and coffee. Of course, he sat at the head of the table. Darcy chose the spot just around the corner from him.

“My most dear lightening sister,” Thor smiled, delighting in the sugary confection before him. “I am honored that you have chosen to break your fast with me on this morning.”

Darcy gave him an indulgent smile. “We’re on Earth now Thor, you can talk to me like a normal human. No need for all the feathery court-speak.”

“Of course not,” Thor said, dropping his regal tone and sounding a bit more normal. “Forgive me, it is sometimes difficult to remember myself. Even in the company of friends.”

Darcy couldn’t imagine what it was like growing up in court as a royal, but she assumed it was pretty lonely, and required a fair bit of keeping oneself guarded. “It’s cool,” she said, breezing on by. “I have to be honest, I didn’t come by to just hang out and eat junk food for breakfast.” She leveled him with a look. “We need to talk.”

“What would you like to discuss?” Thor asked.

Darcy began ticking various topics of conversation off on her fingers. “What secrets about me are you keeping from me? Why did you interuppt Heimdall when he was talking to me before we left Asgard? And why the heck do I keep hearing voices in my head now?”

The lightness in Thor dimmed and Darcy almost felt bad plying him with breakfast to get him to drop his guard. At least she’d been direct, though. He looked like he didn’t want to answer any of her questions.

“It has been recently brought to my awareness that I should be less— _selective_ —with knowledge I choose to provide,” Thor admitted, looking rather berated for royalty. Darcy had to guess Jane to be the one to make him aware.

“I agree,” Darcy pressed. “Especially if you know something that has to do with _me_. Keeping me in the dark isn’t going to help.”

“No, you are right, it isn’t,” Thor agreed. “Darcy, what do you recall from your time in the Realm of the Norn?”

She thought for a moment, trying to recall a place or a time or any useful details. “It was sort of dream like,” Darcy answered, “like you’re one place doing something and then you’re somewhere else that is totally different, but it makes sense no matter how non-sequitar it seems.” She groped for a better explanation. “Like, I was in a house, but then I was in and ocean, and I didn’t think the abrupt location change seemed weird.”

Thor nodded. “The Norn oft communicate within dreams or in dream-like states. They can be both malevolent or benevolent in showing visions to gods and mortals alike.”

“I keep getting flashes of things,” Darcy told him, “kinda like when you black out from drinking and sort of slowly remember all the cringe-y things you did the night before.” Darcy shuddered, then recalled something else. “I keep hearing a voice telling me to ‘remember.’”

Thor nodded thoughtfully. “It’s possible that while you were in the realm of the Norn, one of them may have tried to communicate some message to you. It could be a warning or it could be some meddlesome trickery,” Thor sighed. “The Fates can grow board as any other immortal being. Though they are wise in their knowledge, there are those who only seek to entertain themselves and stir trouble.”

“So whatever the Norn wants me to remember could be something useful or something meant to cause drama?” Thor nodded. “To know or not to know,” Darcy mumbled.

Darcy ruminated over the question, drinking her coffee, as Thor finished his third Danish. “Have you spoken to Jane since yesterday?” He asked after some silent moments had passed. “She did not come to me last night.”

Darcy fought against a grin. “She’s withholding sex because she’s mad at you, right?”

Thor managed a wry smile for her, amused as always by her lack of filter. “It is my understanding that this is a typical custom of Midgardian women.”

“Oh! I have no doubt that it is a custom of most women across the nine realms,” Darcy quipped and Thor chuckled. “She’s right to be mad at you, though. The two of you suck at communication, which is pretty key considering that you’re in an LDR?”

Thor was confused. “El-dee-ar?”

“No, L. D. R.,” Darcy repeated, tracing out the letters in the air with her fingers. “A Long Distance Relationship.” She sighed and clapped a hand over his forearm that was resting on the table. “Look dude, secrets are not going to get you anywhere. At some point you’re going to have to trust each other and open up. And that might mean giving away a few tidbits about space and stuff.”

“I only wish to protect her,” Thor argued, though with some degree of guilt.

“A woman as smart as Jane isn’t going to be accepting when you’re form of protection includes withholding information,” Darcy chided. “If you want to protect, use those muscle-y arms to swoop in and scoop her out of the way of bad guys. Use your brawn when she can’t use her brains, but don’t shut her out thinking you’re doing her any favors.” Darcy peered at him over her glasses, fixing him with a serious look. “If Jane wants to explore a black hole that leads to another dimension or defy physics to discover a new world, she’s going to do it, and no man _or_ god is going to stop her.”

“Aye,” Thor said, with a fond smile. “I do appreciate her bold spirit and curious heart.”

Darcy smiled. “Then buy her bold spirit and curious heart some flowers and apologize,” Darcy advised. “She pretends that she doesn’t like clichéd romantic gestures, but she’s totally lying. Carnations are her favorite…personally I like roses. I’m into the classics.”

Once the coffee and the breakfast and the heart-to-hearts were finished, Darcy decided it was time to leave. She had a party to get ready for and hopefully Bucky would be down for being her arm candy. In the back of her mind, she was remembering the previous night and his reservations and wondered if perhaps she could change his tune about taking the next step. If he wanted it to be special, she’d grab some scented candles and her most silky sheets and create a romantic playlist and seduce the hell out of him.

“As always, I thank you for your sage advice and amusing company, Darcy,” Thor said as he walked her to his door.

“Anytime big guy,” she returned, giving his arm a playful punch.

He paused at the door, his expression turning serious. “There is just one more thing I feel I should mention,” Thor told her. “In the interest of trust I wish to share this knowledge, but I must ask that it doesn’t go beyond the these walls or the confidences of Jane.”

“Go on.”

“The Norn were created from many different races,” Thor began. “While they may have different motives behind the actions they take as individuals, as a group they seek to be unbiased, and to my knowledge it has been some thousand years since their last contact with Midgard.”

“So, maybe I’m like their new Earth diplomat?” Darcy hedged.

“I fear it might not be so simple a thing,” Thor replied. “When Heimdall mentioned that you may cross paths again, he meant as equals. Heimdall’s power for all-sight is similar to that of the Norn. They are often in each others’ confidences.” Thor paused. “I fear that the Norn may one day seek to make you one of their own.”

“Whoa,” Darcy held up a hand. “I didn’t sign up for super powers. I’m the normal one.”

Thor looked sympathetic. “I am afraid that is not how it works,” he replied.

“So, what does that mean?” Darcy asked, her worry increasing. “Am I being drafted? Do I have to leave Earth? Go away to camp Norn? Cause they will have to drag me kicking and screaming!”

Thor set a gentling hand upon her shoulder. “There are no sure answers,” he told her. “I will find out what I can, but in the mean time, rest easy Darcy.” He gave her a smile and a comforting squeeze. “I will use my brawn to protect you when your brains cannot.”

Darcy recognized those words and appreciated them. “You learn fast,” she complimented. “Thanks.”

The idea that creepy, all-knowing witches were possibly logging into her brain without permission was just adding to the list of shit she’d rather not have to worry about. But she definitely felt better knowing that she had a powerful god-slash-prince-slash-Avenger on her side.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Darcy wasn’t in her apartment when Bucky finished his run. Jarvis informed him that she had gone to Thor’s for breakfast. Bucky reckoned she’d have a few things to discuss with her Asgard friend. He’d heard her murmurs of distress and confusion throughout the night as she’d slept in his arms. Bucky watched over her, holding her tight, trying to will away whatever ghosts were plaguing her. It sounded like her brain was trying to recall whatever she’d seen when she’d been in the other dimension and hopefully Thor would be able to help with that, so Bucky would give the two some space to talk, even though he was anxious to see Darcy again.

All throughout his run, his mind kept circling back to the moment he’d watched her fly through the portal. He kept having to remind himself that she was okay, that against all odds she’d survived. Her returned really did happen the day before, it wasn’t just his brain creating an imagined scenario for her survival because he couldn’t deal with the thought of her being gone.

Bucky punched in the code to his apartment and listened to the lock release and grant him admittance. He was famished and sweaty and all he wanted was food and a shower. He was trying to decide which need was taking priority when he rounded into his kitchen and spotted Steve sitting at the island counter, a serious look on his face.

“I was looking for you,” Steve said, explaining his presence.

“I went for a run,” Bucky replied. If Steve wanted to find him, it would have been easy enough. Jarvis was required to monitor him at all times, he was currently on house arrest at the Tower, and Steve was allowed access to his apartments at all times. Bucky had no true privacy.

Steve wasn’t just looking for him, he wanted to corner him.

“I stopped by last night to talk about Miss Lewis’ story about those S.H.I.E.L.D. agents,” Steve continued.

“I was with Darcy,” Bucky replied, crossing to the fridge and yanking it open. He had a feeling he knew where this was going.

“How long has that been going on?” Yep, it was going exactly where he thought it was going. He ignored Steve, pulling out the orange juice that Darcy had delivered weekly for him and drinking it straight from the carton. “Since we went to Berkeley?”

“Before that,” Bucky answered, wiping his mouth and setting the juice on the carton. Steve had a pinched look of disapproval on his face. “What are you? My mother now?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because maybe I wanted to avoid this conversation.”

“Because you knew I would tell you it’s a bad idea,” Steve assessed. Bucky looked away. “Bucky, I’m sure she’s a nice girl, but it’s not something you need to be worrying about right now. You should be concentrating on getting better.”

“Now you sound like my therapist,” Bucky groused.

“Well someone has to look out for you,” Steve retorted.

“That’s the fuckin’ problem, Stevie. Everyone is always looking out for me.” Bucky stepped toward him. “I’ve got my therapist and Sam constantly checking in in case I’ve had an episode. I’ve got Natasha, Barton, and Stark keeping one eye on me in case I snap. I’ve got a computer monitoring my every move in case I go rogue. And I’ve got you constantly watching me like you expect me to fall to pieces at any moment!” He ran a rough hand through his hair, forgetting that he’d tied it back, and yanking at the knot. “Jesus, Steve. The only person to treat me like a human in the past seventy years and not some caged animal is Darcy.”

Bucky watched Steve flinched, ready to deny that he’d treated Bucky differently, but deep down it wasn’t true. Everyone had regarded him almost like an injured or feral animal.

“We just want you to be okay…” Steve insisted. Bucky hated the wounded look on his face.

“I know that, but…I’ll never be who or what I was,” Bucky told him, “and I can’t put off my life while I try to figure out who I am now. Darcy’s been a big part of that.”

“And she’s also been the reason behind some of your biggest episodes in the past few months,” Steve countered. “You don’t think I haven’t realized how you almost broke down after Berkeley. And you completely mishandled the situation in Norway.”

“I was trying to save our asses!” Bucky yelled.

“You lost your mind after Lewis flew into that portal!”

“Wouldn’t you?” Bucky shot back. “If it were Peggy or some girl you loved, wouldn’t you lose it too?”

Steve’s eyes flashed, warning Bucky away from the topic of Peggy. Bucky knew he wasn’t gaining any points by bringing up the past. Steve might live there in his head sometimes, but he certainly didn’t want to ever talk about it.

“She’s not a part of this,” Steve said, “Darcy Lewis isn’t a part of our world. She’s just a kid, she hasn’t seen what we’ve seen, and she can walk away at any time. She still has the choice to live a normal life.” Steve’s eyes turned sad. “I would give anything to go back and change things for us, Buck. The girl and the family and our kids growing up together, I would give anything for that to be our lives anymore, but it’s just not in the cards.”

Bucky huffed out a humorless laugh. “You don’t think I know that, Steve? You don’t think I don’t think about that? That I don’t think about how this all will and won’t end for me? Can’t I enjoy some happiness where I can find it?”

“Of course you can,” Steve raised his hands in a placating gesture. “I just don’t want to see you disappointed if she can’t...deal.”

“With me?”

Steve shook his head. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you—“ Steve gave him a meaningful look and Bucky finally got it. His chest felt like it was caving in, understanding the point that Steve was dancing around. “You think I’ll hurt her.”  
  
“Buck—“

“No,” Bucky said, cutting off whatever excuse Steve was about to toss at him, “let’s hear what you really think. You think I’m going to go psycho and kill her don’t you?” Steve looked hurt, but Bucky didn’t care anymore. If his own best friend barely had faith in him, then what was the point? He groped for a defense, but suddenly, he was coming up short on the high ground.

Darcy’s safety wasn’t something that Bucky could guarantee. He couldn’t make the promise that he wouldn’t ever go berserk and hurt her or anyone else. If Hydra somehow got ahold on him again, Darcy could be in real danger. If they could convince Bucky to kill Steve, they could convince him to kill anyone.

“I don’t want to be the bad guy, Bucky,” Steve said gently, “but I don’t want anyone getting hurt. You most of all.”

“I care about her,” Bucky replied, feeling small. “What am I supposed to do?”

Steve opened his mouth, but didn’t get a chance to respond. There was a crash in the other room and a muttered “fuck” before they heard the door. Both men rushed to investigate.

“Jarvis,” Steve called, “who was just here?”

Jarvis replied, “That was Miss Lewis, sir. I’m afraid she’s been eavesdropping for the past ten minutes.”

Bucky knew before Jarvis confirmed, but his hope still sunk. He hadn’t wanted her to hear any of their conversation, especially the last part, when he dared to voice the doubt of everything happening between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've made up some of my own head canons for Norse mythology in this, so hopefully that doesn't bug any Norse Boffins reading this too much. 
> 
> I'm a little nervous at how some of you might react to Steve being such a dick in this...just to be clear I love Steve Rogers and I want to hug him. I think he's a little bit self righteous at times and in this fic he's definitely got some issues and is projecting a little bit of his own issues and insecurities on Bucky. It happens...people are human...but don't worry, there's room for growth and resolution! 
> 
> Thanks so much to anyone who is still reading or who has popped back into this fic!! I appreciate the support! It's been a bit of a rough couple months, anyone who wants to know can check in with me on Tumblr!
> 
> Love you guys! Be good to one another!


End file.
